He Sleeps Under the Hill Book III
by Bob G. Leeman
Summary: Chapter 12: On the Shores of the Blight. In which a castaway is rescued, the enemy gather their strength and the final confrontation begins.
1. Chapter 11: Upon the Dead Sea

**_Gleeman Bob writes: _**_it has been far too long since I updated HSUtH and I have received messages from readers asking me if I was still alive! well, I am. I have just been busy with my Sword & Sorcery novel and a screenplay, that is all. this is a shorter chapter than usual you will be glad to hear, as the tale winds down to its conclusion there is less story to tell, after all. hope you enjoy it and as always..._

_Walk in the Light!_

* * *

_Oh, the Father of Storms' in a terrible mood_

_And the waves they are rolling and roiling and rude_

_If we want to drop anchor in harbour tonight –_

_Then we'd best start singing our praise to the Light!_

Storm Shanty by Roth Blucha, Gleeman

**Chapter 11 * Upon the Dead Sea**

**Part I : The Battle**

N'aethan watched, amused – but also a little touched – by the open display of affection, as the three young Aes Sedai held each other in a warm embrace, the willowy red-head having to lean down a little, the buxom blonde going up onto her tip-toes, in their efforts to mutually hug Ellythia Sedai. They were laughing and crying at the same time. He had often wondered how females could accomplish that, just another mysterious skill of theirs, he supposed.

N'aethan realised that he was, after all, smiling fondly at three Aes Sedai, which was probably not a good idea – such things could be seen as patronising – so he turned and raised his gloved hands, taking the heavy bundle of bags and blankets that Gerom was lowering from above and untying the rope. There were some things there that he had taken from the Cenotaph that might prove useful, but they were only small, portable… there was much that would have to be left behind. He frowned. Father would not have wanted him to let his secrets fall into the hands of the Shadow… and there was but one way to ensure this. The Shadow-wrought, the Hag, they would have seen the ship, they would be coming soon.

The red-head (she must be this 'Shrinalla' he had heard described, making the other one 'Rennetta') had looked up, her perceptive gaze taking him in, Cohradin also… clearly, their presence confused her. "But where is Atual?" she asked.

Ellythia Sedai looked at her wordlessly, at Rennetta Sedai also, then shook her head slowly. The Aes Sedai were hugging each other again, N'aethan noted, but now there was no mirth… they were simply weeping.

* * *

Shrinalla Tolamani, Aes Sedai of the Green Ajah, scrubbed at her eyes furiously with the sleeve of her fine woollen gown, the Twins lingering to either side, their faces set like stone but a concerned cast in their eyes as they looked at her. She could feel their grief through the Bond as well as they hers, they would all miss Atual a great deal… but there was a small Shadowspawn army waiting on the cliffs, there would be time for tears and proper mourning later. Ellyth and Renn had gone back to the rowing boat with Jabal.

"Thaeus!" she heard Ellyth cry, "what are _you _doing here?!"

Shrina turned to the two men waiting at the foot of the rope ladder… she blinked… _they _were an odd-looking pair! A cursory examination revealed that the tall fellow on the left was some sort of an Aielman with a dreadful, disfiguring scar. She wondered where he had found the horrid glass eye… and as for the one on the right… but Shrina was aware that her face was still damp with tears, which was hardly how an Aes Sedai should present herself to strangers, or indeed, anyone.

"Excuse us," Shrina told them, "we have just heard of the passing of a friend."

"_Sin'val Vadin_ was a brave man," declared the Aielman, nodding.

"Sin what?"

"This is the honour-name that we gave to Atual Aendwyn of the Far Madding Clan," the one-eyed fellow expounded, "he slew many of the Shadow-wrought and guarded his Aes Sedai valiantly with his life's blood."

The Twins looked momentarily pleased at this, then went back to eyeing the fellow on the right suspiciously. He had Atual's _sword _buckled to his belt...

Shrina decided that the glass eye did not look quite so bad, the fellow had traded it from a peddler, doubtless. He should have asked for a blue one.

"Yes," agreed the other man, "Atual Gaidin… honoured, am I, to hold his blade and stand ward for him." He had an even stranger accent than the Aielman. The Twins frowned. Shrina stared.

"It's _you!_" she exclaimed, "the naked chap from the vision! I've just realised! I didn't recognise you with your clothes on!" The Twins scowled, eyeing the odd fellow who appeared to be the Lady Ellythia's new Warder. He just blinked his large, strange eyes at her, his face solemn, then put a hand over the metal badge he wore over his heart, the other on his hilt and bowed formally.

"Honour to serve, Aes Sedai," he murmured, in an odd, husky voice with melodic accents. He spoke a little like a Falman, Shrina considered, before detecting the Twins' ire through the Bond.

"It's not _my _fault he was bare as a babe," she said defensively, "it was just something that Ghoetam showed to us… I didn't _stare!_ Well, not _that_ much… Renn was definitely staring more than me!"

The fellow was doing some staring himself. "The Lord Ghoetam?" he gasped. "Then _you_ are the Hornsounder?"

Shrina nodded. "Well yes, I suppose that I am…"

"Honour to _Diynen'd'ma'purvene!_" He bowed again, lower this time, turning his head and hissing at the Aielman; "bow also, Cohradin – you stand in the presence of a Hornsounder!"

The Aielman blinked both his real and his glass eyes, looking a little sceptical, Shrina thought, then shrugged and reversed his spear with a swift twirl – she felt the Twins tense through the Bond – thrusting the point down into the shingle and bowing also, a cupped hand held out.

"May you always find water and shade, Aes Sedai."

"_Hornsounder!_ You must call her _that!_"

"Hornsounder, then."

Shrina smiled dazzlingly at them. "How nice of you!" She then frowned, her full lips thinning. "But since it turned out to be the _wrong _bloody Horn, I would appreciate it if you did _not_ call me that ever again."

"But Horns-"

"_Ever!_"

"Honour to obey, Aes Sedai…"

A deep-voiced interruption came from above, another Aielman;

"Nightwatcher! The twisted-ones begin to push their rafts down to the sea. They mean to cross, it would seem."

The odd-looking fellow from the vision nodded, then turned to Shrina apologetically. "Forgive me Aes Sedai, but there is something that I must go and do."

Ellyth was coming back from the boat, her arm about her brother, face still damp with tears, as was Renn's, as she followed on with Jabal.

Thaeus bowed politely to them, still holding his sister's hand, patting it soothingly. He addressed the Aielman and the one who seemed to be called 'Nightwatcher.' "I am to understand that I have you to thank for the fact that my sister yet lives, yes?" he stated. He looked very relieved, Shrina thought, of all of them, he had seemed to be the most concerned for Ellyth's safety on their journey north. They bowed back politely as Ellyth made introductions;

"These are Cohradin of the Wet Sands Shaido and Naythan Shieldman, who stands Ward to me now that…" her shoulders trembled a little and Renn wrapped a comforting arm around them.

Shrina sighed, swallowing her own grief, there would be time for that later when she and the Twins were alone together and could properly mourn the big, stern man from Far Madding who had ridden those many miles at their side. They had all learned much from Atual. Shrina did not remember her own father, who was lost at sea with her mother when she was very young… but on hearing the grim tidings, she had felt much as though she had lost a paternal father-figure for the second time. Well, they would mourn Atual later, the three of them – but for the nonce, it certainly seemed that there was some sort of battle in the offing… the very _first_ battle for this particular Sister of the Battle Ajah.

Shrina decided to take command.

"Aebel that way, Blaek the other – the Shadowspawn will have seen the ship, they will try to circle around to us on either side, you are to delay but not engage them." The Twins swiftly uncased and strung their horse-bows with deft movements and hared-off to either side of the landing, scrambling with agile grace over the smooth, pale boulders. "Oh, and Renn, you and Ellyth – back to the ship!"

Shrina's voice had a certain snap to it, against which her friends rebelled.

"What do you mean; 'back to the ship?' "

"Who put you in charge?"

"I am of the Battle Ajah and _this_ is a battle," Shrina declared firmly. "Jabal and your new Warder and the scary-looking Aielman can guard the landing but I want the two of you back in the boat… now _hop!_"

Ellyth glowered. "I am not a _frog_, Shrina!"

Shrina opened her mouth but the new Warder with the old-fashioned name – Naythan Gaidin – interrupted their argument.

"Excuse me Aes Sedai, but there is something very important that I must go and do," the fellow declared, limping over to the rock face and grasping the trailing rope. He paused, their eyes all on him. "I will need a Servant of All to come with me, it requires Channelling."

Ellyth stepped forward, but Shrina stopped her. "I shall go with him, you two… back to the ship!" Ellyth and Renn scowled, before starting back to the rowing boat, Jabal pacing them. "Be careful Naythan!" she heard Ellyth call, a strong note of concern in her voice. Shrina put her foot on the first rung of the rope ladder down which Ellyth had made her shaky descent.

Naythan Gaidin was addressing the Aielman; "protect the Aes Sedai, Cohradin, I will send other Shaido down to help."

The Aielman glanced at the rowing-boat drawn up on the shingle, the ship riding at anchor beyond it, then turned back. Shrina thought that he looked a bit sickly…

"You want us to go on _that_, Nightwatcher?"

"Yes! Do you wish to stay here?"

This Cohradin seemed to be considering it…

"It is better than going on a raft, Cohradin – more comfortable, I so assure you!" Cohradin scowled. "Gah! Do what you will! But watch over Aes Sedai you must or _Sin'aethan Shadar Cor _will give you a black eye to go with the red!"

"I thought it was the Nightwatcher's duty to protect the sleep of good Aiel children," Cohradin grumbled, "not Aes Sedai also!"

"Yes Aes Sedai also, that is _day job_, only protect Aiel at night do I!"

Shrina blinked. Men were strange, granted, but these two… where had Ellyth found such bizarre travelling companions?

"I will obey, _Vron'cor_," the Aielman muttered, hefting the bundle of blankets and saddlebags and carrying it down to the rowing boat.

Shrina shook her head and began to climb the rope ladder, felt it shake after a half-dozen steps and looked down. Thaeus was ascending right behind her!

"What do you think _you're _doing?"

"Coming with you, Shrina!"

"You are not my Warder!"

"No, you sent them away. But I must stay close to you, Aes Sedai, in case I should require further Healing, yes?" Thaeus smiled up at her, disarmingly. It wasn't _fair_ that Ellyth's brother had such a beautiful smile! She was powerless to resist.

"Oh, very well… but don't you dare look up my skirts!"

This Naythan fellow seemed impatient; "come, Hornsound- Aes Sedai mean I, please to make haste – time is short, the crone must not steal Father's secrets!"

Shrina wasn't sure what he meant by this and could not ask because he was gone, hauling himself up with just his hands, his injured leg dangling, the other curled around the rope. Shrina blinked, then ran nimbly up the ladder, her divided skirts hampering her little as she had hauled them up and tied them, her silk-stockinged legs flashing… Shrina always wore woollen gowns as being more practical and what she was accustomed to, but had no compunctions about what little she wore beneath being of the finest silk. She was no stranger to running up ladders either… though it had been a few years since she had scrambled about on a deck or been sent aloft to reef sail, she took it in her stride. Even so, this Naythan Shieldman beat them to the steps near the top of the sea-mount and stood waiting, a polite gloved hand helping Shrina to her feet.

Thaeus had a rather smug half-smile on his lips… "You _did_ look, didn't you?!" Shrina snapped. His sky-blue eyes were wide… innocent… honestly, they were in the middle of a bloody battle… _men!_

Naythan Gaidin was already hopping briskly up the steps, leaning heavily on the odd metal stick that had been attached to his belt.

Shrina ran to join him, Thaeus right behind. "That looks nasty," she said of his leg, "why don't you let me Heal it for you?"

"Would that I _could_, Aes Sedai," the strange fellow commented cryptically, and made an odd mewling noise in the back of his throat. There were two more Aielmen at the top of the old, crumbled steps, a very big one and a much smaller one, who was a little shorter than she – they bowed to her in the same odd way as the other had, spears poked down into the ground, so Shrina curtsied politely, using the motion to tug down the skirts she had tied about her thighs. They had glanced at her knees in surprise she noted, as though they had not known Aes Sedai possessed legs… well, they were accustomed to Ellyth's prudish ways, no doubt, now _there_ was a girl who considered it outrageous to let a man so much as see her ankles!

"Gerom, Chassin, report to Cohradin, then go south around the rocks – there is a Warder there, assist him!" Naythan Shieldman's voice had the snap of one accustomed to giving orders and the Aielmen were not slow in obeying.

"Yes, Nightwatcher."

"It will be as you say, _Vron'cor._"

The two Aielmen trotted down the steps and descended to the landing, the small, pale-haired fellow sliding rapidly down the rope, the big fellow using the ladder with almost equal rapidity. Shrina pulled her eyes from the Aielmen, following the odd Warder up the steps.

"Why do they call you the Nightwatcher?" she asked.

"Because their mothers told them to, Aes Sedai!" He grinned briefly, but returned to looking serious and preoccupied in short order.

Shrina scowled. She did not like an 'enigmatic' response to a simple question! Thaeus chuckled a little. He often seemed to laugh at strange things… and why wouldn't the fellow let her Heal him?

There were two more Aiel at the top of the sea-mount, _Aielwomen_ this time… 'Maidens of the Spear' Roth had called them, in the midst of his sordid reminisces. One, a red-head, stood on one side of the parapet to the north, another, a blonde, on the other side to the south. They both had arrows nocked to their horn bows. The red-head was drawing on something below, the blonde turned away from whatever lay beneath her feet, glancing over at the other Maiden… she turned when she saw them.

"_Vron'cor_, the Shadow-twisted are moving around either side, the rocks we hurled upon them are all gone and there are but few arrows left."

"Time to _go!_ Manda!" The red-head ran over to join them. "You and Jahdi report to Cohradin, then go around the north side, there is a Warder there… he looks exactly like the other Warder, now that I think of it… aid him in holding back the Beastmen, we will not be long."

"What do you mean to do, Nightwatcher?" asked the red-head, while the blonde watched silently.

"I mean to… well, you will see, Maiden. Hard to miss, will it be!"

The two Maidens of the Spear ran lithely down the steps, giving Thaeus a quick, appreciative examination on the way past, making signs to each other with their fingers. This annoyed Shrina, though she could not have said why.

"I will not be long, I so assure you – anxious to leave also!" Naythan Gaidin called after them.

"Are those _feet?_" Shrina enquired, looking at the two massive lumps of stone atop the pedestal.

"Yes! Big Brother's feet!"

Naythan Gaidin leapt awkwardly up onto the parapet overlooking the eastern face of the sea mount and snarled angrily at whatever was going on down there. Shrina looked. Numerous heavy rafts paddled by Trollocs were still crossing the intervening water, more had already landed… she knew how little Shadowspawn cared for deep water and couldn't imagine what could have forced them to do so. He pointed the stick downwards, aiming along it. Shrina eyed the metal tube curiously.

"What does that-" a harsh, cracking sound interrupted her query, as did a bright bolt of light that flared from the end, shooting down to explode amidst a crowded raft, with devastating consequences. Shrina stared at the dismembered Trolloc corpses floating amidst shattered logs, the few survivors struggling as their heavy mail armour sunk them beneath the waves, then back at the tube which was smoking a little. "What is _that?_" she demanded, shocked but also fascinated.

"Lightning lance, Aes Sedai." He fired again, destroying another raft.

"_Lightning?_"

"Yes Aes Sedai." A third raft exploded.

"You can call me 'Shrina' you know," Shrina muttered absently, peering down at the Trollocs and Fades swarming up the beach, then frowning with concentration for a moment. A loud crack of thunder sounded above and the grey clouds spat forth a succession of jagged lightning bolts which marched up the beach, leaving still, scorched Shadowspawn in their wake. "There!" Shrina announced, "_that_ is lightning, I think you will find!"

"Yes indeed, Aes Sedai."

Shrina frowned. "Stop calling me 'Aes Sedai' all the time… it did not _look _like lightning…"

"No, it is not, not really, Hornsounder Sedai…"

"Aargh! _Shrina!_"

"Come, Shrinalla Sedai, we must hurry!"

Still favouring his injured leg, this Nightwatching Naythan fellow went hopping down the dark stairs atop the pedestal, practically tugging her along by the hem of her gown! Well, he was a little brusque, Shrina thought, but his need for haste was clearly urgent, so she hiked up her skirts and ran along the gallery and down the ramp in his wake, Thaeus racing after her. It was gloomy down here – there was a big statue of a laughing man and what looked like an open tomb with more stairs inside. Shrina's eyes moved back to the statue – an enormous great heroic figure with a bear's pelt draped over his head and shoulders, holding a big, four-bladed-

"It's _him!_" she exclaimed, "the giant Hero from Roth's story!"

Naythan Gaidin looked oddly pleased. "So they still tell it?" he enquired. "Good, good…" He set his back against the statue's plinth and heaved, grunting with effort, and the base swivelled on one of its corners, revealing _more_ stairs beneath, a spiral staircase carved into the stone, extending down into the dark. "Father always used to move it with the Power," he muttered, starting down the stairs, "forgot how heavy it was…"

Shrina embraced the Source and summoned a _saidar_ light before following… the darkness did not seem to hamper him, he must have very good night-vision.

"What is this place?" Thaeus enquired softly, his voice echoing in the circular shaft, "where are we going?"

"As soon as I have the slightest bloody idea, I'll be glad to tell you!" Shrina snapped.

The stairs went down a long way… a very long way…

"Hurry, Shrinalla Sedai!" she heard a faint voice call from the depths.

"I'm coming as fast as I can, burn-it!" Shrina shouted, beginning to wish that she had not volunteered for this… whatever it was… but Ellyth had looked rather pale at the prospect of climbing back up here – though she always looked rather pale as a matter of course. As for Shrina, the ladder had winded her a little, and all these stairs… she was not so young as she was, after all… but then, the spiral steps ended.

They opened out into a wide, round chamber, a narrow parapet running about the curved walls. There were glowing crystals in the domed ceiling that cast a dim illumination, so Shrina let the _saidar_ light wink out.

"What is that?" Thaeus enquired, examining the deep pool of clear, crystalline liquid that occupied the centre of the chamber. He was staring at it in fascination, Shrina noted. Naythan Gaidin spoke softly;

"It is a _saidin _well."

Shrina gasped.

* * *

Aebel Gaidin closed an eye, scowling with concentration, and put an arrow through the boar-snouted Trolloc's forehead. It tumbled to the ground, trampled by the next one. There was a gap between two enormous boulders, one of which looked like a hand, and the Trollocs could only approach one-at-a-time. Aebel nocked another arrow to the bowstring, beginning to draw on the next Trolloc, when a knife sprouted in its face, a very large knife.

Aebel turned. The owner of the very large knife, a very large Aielman, loomed to one side of him, a much shorter Aielman to the other. Aebel lowered his bow, touching his sword-hilt. Both Aiel were wearing black veils he could not help but note – Uncle Perel had served with the Winged Guards in the Aiel War and had told them this was usually a bad sign, as had Atual Gaidin. Aebel frowned. The big Aielman spoke in a deep voice;

"Peace, Warderman, we come to dance with _them_, not you."

The two Aielmen ran past, raising their spears, leaving Aebel feeling superfluous… he scowled, slung his bow on his back and drew his sword, following.

* * *

Blaek Gaidin closed an eye, scowling with concentration, and put an arrow through the goat-faced Trolloc's neck. It tumbled to the ground, trampled by the next one. There was a gap between two enormous boulders, one of which looked like a hand, and the Trollocs could only approach one-at-a-time. Blaek nocked another arrow to the bowstring, beginning to draw on the next Trolloc – and an arrow sprouted in its face.

Blaek turned to discover a red-headed Aielwoman nocking another arrow to her horn bow. She winked at him above her black veil.

"_You_ are a very pretty fellow," she observed. A blonde Aielwoman shrugged, before letting loose her own arrow.

"The fair-haired fellow with the Aes Sedai was comelier," she opined.

The red-head shook her head decisively. "Yes, mayhap, but he had boring blue eyes, this one has much prettier eyes, like polished onyx."

"True," agreed the blonde, nocking another arrow.

Blaek blinked. They were strange, these Aiel.

* * *

"For the last time, it is _Shrina!_"

"Yes Shrinalla Sedai. Sorry Shrinalla Sedai."

"Oh for the love of-"

"What would you like us to call _you?_" Thaeus enquired of the obstinate fellow.

He shrugged. "Shieldman, call me, Lord of the Desiamas."

"Very well, Shieldman, but why do you call me _that?_"

"Your sister is _Lady!_"

"She has doubtless _behaved_ like one! Lord Whitecloak will be fine."

Shrina grabbed the Shieldman's coat to get his attention, gesturing at the deep, crystalline pool. "Wait, _saidin? _You mean, this is the male half of the True Source?"

Thaeus returned to staring with fascination at the pool of glowing liquid, taking a step closer to it before the Shieldman put a warning hand on his chest.

"Careful, Lord Whitecloak whose cloak is not white but black, you do not wish to go swimming in _there_, I so assure you!" Thaeus shook his head, seeming to come back to himself a little.

"What of the Dark One's Taint?" Shrina demanded, still eyeing the crystalline well suspiciously, "I would have thought the _saidin_ would be all black and oily on the surface, something like that…"

"Oh no, Shrinalla Sedai, this well was created before the Strike, the Backlash… it is pure… just hope there is _enough _for… yes…" Sounding distracted, the Shieldman was limping around to the far side of the pool where there was a broad archway. More of the strange crystals began to glow as Shrina and Thaeus followed him through into a large, circular chamber. Shrina looked around. It was very dusty in here, full of strange objects; things that looked like long, deep horse-troughs made of some thick, clear substance, tall glass tubes, cages of iridescent wire, racks of clear flasks. There were more dark archways set at intervals in the walls concealing who knew what…

"What is this place?" enquired Shrina, at a loss.

"Father's place, Shrinalla Sedai. Place that the Big Hall never found out about, think I!" He made the odd sound in the back of his throat again, moving stiffly over to an object set in the exact centre of the chamber. A tall, dark plinth supporting a bust carved in the finest, pale marble… a handsome, proud face, a hint of sadness and worry around the eyes, a good-humoured mouth, though with a melancholy twist to the lips, hair falling down to the shoulders.

Shrina had no idea who it was. The Shieldman looked at it regretfully.

"Who is that?"

"The Lord of the Morning, he is."

"Goodness!"

Then, the Shieldman lifted the bust off the pedestal – it looked as though it weighed a great deal but he did not seem to strain – and raised it up over his head!

"What are you doing?" Shrina demanded.

The Shieldman grinned, his pointy teeth flashing. "Forgive me, my Dragon!" he shouted, then smashed the bust forcefully down onto the smooth, glassy floor. It shattered. Shrina blinked. This new Warder of Ellyth's, who the Sages of the Horn had shown her (shown her quite a lot of!) well… he _was_ an unusual fellow! Then, she noticed that amidst the white marble chunks of the broken bust that lay at their feet was a round, gleaming, black object – a sphere of smooth, dark crystal that had seemingly been hidden inside the carven statuette.

"Ah, there it is," commented the Shieldman, "just as Father said." He stooped to pick it up, limping back out of the chamber. Shrina and Thaeus exchanged a confused glance then made to follow – almost running into the Shieldman's broad back, as he had stopped abruptly at the archway, staring at something. Shrina followed his gaze. He was eyeing one of the clear, column-shaped containers, like a large jar, standing against the wall. It looked more ornate than the other, smaller ones and was also marked with a symbol where the other tubes were unrelieved; a four-sided diamond shape, in red.

"Huh!" said the Shieldman, "_thought so!_"

Shrina blinked again, then followed him out to the _saidin _well. "This is all very confusing," she complained, "you said you needed an Aes Sedai to help you do… whatever it is you're doing, but-"

"Forgiveness Aes Sedai but _now_ is it time for you to do your part!" He held up the dark, crystalline sphere. It gleamed faintly. "Please to Channel webs – weaves, mean I – into this, threads of all five Powers must it be…"

Shrina frowned. She had no idea what the lump of crystal was and wished that Ellyth was there to confirm whether it were a _ter'angreal_ or no. She thought she could see glimmers of red light in the crystal's depths, moving in a slow, circular, swirling pattern. She frowned. "Oh very well," she muttered, as she Channelled, "but it had better not do something nasty, like turn me into a tree!"

"A… tree?"

"Never mind!" The black sphere glowed faintly as it soaked-up the weaves, and Shrina fancied she could see further movement in its ebon depths as the swirls of light turned faster in whirling striations. The Shieldman looked at the crystal for a moment, then sighed. "Shame…" he muttered, but then his expression firmed, "but the crone has too much lost knowledge already – cannot let her steal Father's secrets!" And with this, he tossed the black sphere into the centre of the well of _saidin_.

Shrina stared. What in the waves was going on? The sphere disappeared beneath the surface without a sound nor a disturbance in that gleaming liquid, sinking down, down… then vanished with a flash that encompassed the pool. The Shieldman was still staring intently as though waiting for something. Then, with slow, gradual momentum, the liquid _saidin_ began to move, light flickering deep within in occasional bursts, a little like lightning, moving in a circular motion as though some sort of whirlpool was gradually forming.

"It has begun," the Shieldman mused, "no stopping it now." He glanced at Shrina and grinned. He had very sharp-looking teeth… he reminded her a little of Elyas, in a way… "Time to _leave_ it is, Aes Sedai!"

Shrina nodded, glanced at Thaeus, who was staring into the slowly swirling well of _saidin_, a small smile on his lips. "Thaeus?" He continued to stare. The motion of the _saidin_ whirlpool seemed to be speeding up, intensifying whilst she watched. "_Thaeus!_"

"Mmm? Oh, yes, of course…"

The Shieldman was tearing the splints from his inured leg – wincing, he experimentally bent the knee a little. Cartilage crackled. "_Tsag!_" he growled.

"Uh!" Shrina shuddered. "Why don't you let me – oh bother, I'll just bloody do it anyway!" And she knelt gracefully, seized his limb and cast a Healing weave… then watched, dumbfounded, as it melted and dissipated into nothing.

"_Said_ you could not Heal _Sin'aethan Shadar Cor_."

"Wh- why did it not work on you?"

"Why does a duck not care that it is raining?"

It was aggravating to have a question answered with a question!

"What… what _are_ you?" Shrina spluttered.

"Told to you already, did I… Shieldman!" The Shieldman glanced at the _saidin_ well, the steadily increasing circular motion – it seemed to be tearing at the sides, flakes of stone being worn steadily away, as though this slow whirlpool were the nucleus of some gradually widening sphere of destruction. "Aes Sedai, I tell you true; it _really is _time that we should _go!_"

They went. Thaeus offered the Shieldman a helping hand up the steps but he waved him on, limping and hopping in their wake as they swiftly ascended the spiral stairs. They seemed to go on forever, Shrina had not recalled there being quite so many steps on the way down, and she was feeling somewhat winded by the time they re-emerged into the big round chamber. The Shieldman did not follow them to the ramp, but stood for a moment, staring up at the statue… or at the big axe held in those carven hands. A tremor seemed to shake the stone beneath her feet – Shrina frowned. Thaeus gave her arm a tug. She pulled away. Another tremor, stronger.

"Naythan Shieldman! I don't know what's going on, but hadn't we better…" More tremors… a groaning sound from the ceiling, dust drifting down. He blinked, then snatched the axe from the hands, securing it across his back via the leather strap that dangled from it. He bowed his head to the statue and then trotted after them. The walls continued to shake as they hastened to the steps above.

Shrina was the first to the middle of the gallery where the ancient symbol of the Aes Sedai was set in the wall, though feeling somewhat puffed-out. She released her skirts and started for the steps, but a gloved hand rested on her shoulder, gently but immovably holding her in place.

"Wait, Aes Sedai… there are Shadowmen."

Shrina blinked. "I can't sense anything…"

The Shieldman grinned, patting the odd metal badge he wore over his heart. "Me neither… but warded or not,_ nose_ does not lie. Three, there are." He scowled.

Shrina jumped. His eyes had gone slitty, just like a-

"Sorry Shrinalla Sedai," he muttered absently, "it is just that Myrddraal _stink!_" He slipped past her, drawing his sword and ascended the steps, bending the knee of his injured leg experimentally, limbering it for the coming fight with more cracking and crunching whilst Shrina stared after him in confusion. Then Thaeus pushed in front of her too, just like the Warders always did, as though being the first into danger was some jealously guarded perquisite of theirs! Thaeus drew the long, Heron-mark sword from the sheath at his back, smiling down at her. He had a lovely smile…

"This new Warder of my sister's is an interesting fellow, yes?" and then he was slipping up the stairs at the heels of the prowling Shieldman, their blades bared and at the ready. Shrina scowled, embraced the Source, then hitched up her skirts and followed. A fresh wave of tremors shook the walls as she did so. She heard steel clash above and frowned. _Her _sword was back on the ship.

Shrina emerged into the open air in time to see the Shieldman parry a _Thakan'dar_-forged sword that had been sweeping at his neck and deliver a double-handed return-stroke, the Power-forged blade moving almost too fast to see, a blow of enormous force as it sheered up diagonally under the Fade's armpit to cut its arm and head and part of the opposite shoulder clean away from the body, the Myrddraal's two halves collapsing and thrashing as dark blood sprayed. Shrina stared. It was like one of those impossible feats of sword-play described in the ancient heroic legends…

"Look out!"

Another Myrddraal darted in, dark blade thrusting at the Shieldman but Shrina could not Channel as he was in the way. His left hand seemed to blur up to his face and he _caught _the Myrddraal's blade in a gloved fist, bringing the vicious thrust to a sudden stop – he smiled at the Fade for a brief instant, then his right arm blurred and the point of his sword plunged clean through the Myrddraal's forehead and out the back of its skull. He twisted and withdrew… the Fade collapsed bonelessly, its pale hand slipping from the hilt of its dark sword which the Shieldman still held by the blade. He frowned at it, propped the hilt against the ground and broke the dark sword neatly with his booted foot.

Thaeus was duelling another Myrddraal, a half-dozen wounds scattered over its pale body as it circled him, cutting and thrusting with serpentine speed. Again, Shrina prepared weaves to intervene, but even as she did, Thaeus rolled gracefully beneath the Fade's dark blade and up to one knee, his sword flashing out to take one of its legs off at mid-thigh. The Myrddraal snarled, its blade sweeping out as it fell – and another blade interposed itself like quicksilver, parried the dark sword away and then Ellyth's odd new Warder was there, stamping his boot energetically onto the supine Myrddraal's face. The face-stamping went on for a time, then with a final crunch the Shadowspawn ceased its twitching.

"Eurgh!" exclaimed Shrina, with a shudder.

The Shieldman grinned toothily at her. "Sorry Shrinalla Sedai, but there is something about Shadowmen that brings out the beast in me!" A gloved hand helped Thaeus to his feet and he nodded politely. "Undercut of the Torrent is good sword-form for winning a duel and you perform it well – but duelling Myrddraal is not like duelling _man_ – stay on your feet, should you!"

Thaeus blinked, then nodded. "I shall remember that. They certainly seem to take some killing. It was my first Myrddraal, though not my last by the looks of it…" His eyes narrowed and he nodded behind them. Shrina and the Shieldman turned to see three more Myrddraal crawling over the parapet, drawing their dark blades. Thaeus and the Shieldman raised their own swords and started forward… but Shrina had other ideas.

"We don't have time for that!" and she drew down the lightning that lurked in the grey sky above. The jagged bolts leapt from one Fade to another in a fearsomely destructive chain-reaction… Shrina sagged a little, leaning against Thaeus' shoulder… that had been rather a lot of lightning, even for her… she was feeling distinctly strained by her exertions. Thaeus shifted his weight on his leg a little, wincing, and Shrina glanced down – there was a shallow cut just above his knee.

"Honestly!" she snapped, "not again – lower your britches!"

"Is that necessary?" Thaeus wondered as she tugged insistently at his belt.

"You don't want to end up with a bit of cloth in the wound. Do as I say!"

Thaeus shrugged and complied, whilst Shrina knelt beside his bare legs – he had fine, well-turned calves, she noted – frowning angrily and squinting at the cut, which was deep, weeping copious amounts of blood down his leg. Already, the edges of the wound were going dark. Shrina seized his knee and cast a Healing weave, watching as the edges of the cut closed, the bleeding abating. He was left with a small, pale scar. Well, she was no Yellow… and a man should have a few scars, especially a pretty fellow like Ellyth's brother, why, his legs were smooth and well-shaped as…

"May I pull my britches back up now, Shrina?" Thaeus was smiling down at her. Shrina blinked and released his knee. "We are heavily outnumbered it would seem," he mused further, whilst pulling up his britches and buckling his belt, "and since flight seems our best and only option, it will be easier for me to flee the enemy when my britches are _not_ about my ankles, yes?"

The Shieldman had been watching, he chuckled at this. Thaeus smiled. Shrina flushed and took Thaeus' hand as he helped her up, then winced, rubbing at her temples as her head began to pound… it was just not fair that a man should have a smile like that…

"That about does it for Channelling," Shrina muttered, blinking the spots out of her eyes, "wish I had an _angreal_."

"Thank-you for Healing me yet again," Thaeus said, in concert with a rather smooth bow, managing to retain his hold on her fingers whilst he did, as though performing the first movement in a court dance. Well, she had had to Heal him, a _Thakan'dar _blade wound could kill in hours if one didn't amputate the leg (and she liked his legs attached to his slim hips, thank you!) though if it had been an ordinary blade then he could have just bloody bandaged it for all she cared!

Shrina retrieved her hand and employed it in giving Thaeus a hard swat on the rump. "Just see to it that it doesn't happen again!" she snapped, "wear _armour_ or something!"

Thaeus grinned, as did the Shieldman, before turning back to regard the three smoking Myrddraal corpses and chuckling further.

"What are you laughing about?" Shrina demanded.

The Shieldman raised a gloved finger – she didn't know what shimmering material those gauntlets were made of but there was no sign that the Myrddraal's blade had sliced through – and pointed at the three she had used lightning (a bit too much lightning!) to destroy. "_Them_, Shrinalla Sedai. The way their hair all stood up on end. Amusing, it was!" He resumed his chuckles, Thaeus joining in. Shrina scowled. Grown men? They were more like little boys!

"Aes Sedai?" said a voice, just behind her shoulder. Shrina jumped, turned, looked, and jumped again. It was the tall Aielman with the red-gold hair… the big scar across his face… and the horrid-looking glass eye! The Shieldman glared at him.

"What do you here, Cohradin? Told you to keep eye on the Mistress, did I!"

"I _did_ keep my eye on her, Nightwatcher, I kept it on the Aes Sedai very closely… until she commanded me not to." Cohradin shrugged. "It seems that she does not care for the feel of my new, red eye upon her…" a note of wonder entered his voice, "…it would seem further that even the Aes Sedai find unnerving the fearsome gaze of red-eyed Cohradin of the _Sovin-_"

"Never mind that! Do you feel those tremors?" Cohradin nodded. "That means it is time to _go!_"

"Indeed," Cohradin agreed, "this is why the other, shorter, Aes Sedai sent me to fetch you. (Though I think me that she misliked the stare of my one red eye also.)"

Shrina fervently agreed with the sentiment of leaving and started for the steps but faltered… the Shieldman was not following. He sniffed the air, then waved her on.

"Go, Shrinalla Sedai. There are more Myrddraal coming." He grinned. "I will give them pause."

* * *

Ellyth watched Cohradin race back toward the rock-face, her feathery brows drawn down with concern. Where were they? They had been gone too long.

Renn was talking, mostly to herself. "That Aielman with the unpleasant-looking glass eye… I'm sure he is the fellow that I saw… well, that the eagle saw… some Aielwomen were hitting him with sticks… most odd."

Ellyth did not trouble to ask Renn to elucidate, going over to the boat instead. The dark-skinned old man was still sitting there, calmly puffing on his pipe, Ellyth presumed him to be a sailor. He did not look up as she went through the items stacked there. Amidst the Aiel's blankets and a long bag that Naythan had stuffed full of things – she could see his fiddle-case poking out of the top – she located her saddlebags. Digging to the bottom, she found a circular item, wrapped carefully in a handkerchief. She withdrew and unwrapped it, before approaching Jabal, who was loitering at Renn's side, making plucking motions at her cloak, despite getting his tattooed hands irritably slapped away. He had thoroughly approved of Shrina's brusque command that they return to the ship, but they had not, so there it was.

Jabal blinked, looking down at the worn brass case that had been thrust into his hand. He pushed the knob in the side with his thumb and the lid sprang open, revealing a needle pointing steadily north.

"I took good care of it Jabal Gaidin, and did _not_ allow it to fall into the un-tattooed hands of your Clan's mercantile competitors, yes?"

Jabal smiled, closing the lid and tucking the compass into his waist-coat pocket. He was in his usual bare-chested state, Ellyth noted, briefly recollecting the hard, muscular chest she had pressed herself against earlier, and flushed.

"Thank-you, Ellyth Sedai. Though the compass was a gift, now that I think of it, I did not expect you to return it-"

"Then you may look on it as a gift _back. _A gift for you and your Aes Sedai…" Renn blinked at her, owlishly. Ellyth smiled thinly. "A _wedding _gift, yes?"

Renn's mouth dropped open. "Who told you?" she demanded.

"Dear Atual did."

Renn glared angrily at Jabal. "You are such a terrible gossip!" she exclaimed.

* * *

As Manda ran fleetly back to the landing, the howls of the Trollocs diminishing, her empty quiver bumping against her hip, she could not help but glance back for another admiring glance over her shoulder. The Warder running at her heels was a _very _handsome fellow, she considered. Such lovely dark hair, like silk. But she suspected that he belonged to one or other of these new Aes Sedai who had arrived here in the ship-thing.

Manda gulped a little as her eyes moved ahead and she scrambled over a last boulder behind Jahdi, down to the small stretch of beach. The long, narrow hull beneath a single wooden pole, like a tree shorn of its branches – she thought these 'sailormen' called them 'masts' – looked a little better than the raft… but only a little… surely _Vron'cor _would not want them to go with him in _that? _Gerom and Chassin were scrambling over boulders to their left, joining them on the beach, followed by… Manda stared.

"Another one!" she exclaimed. Jahdi stared also, the Maidens watching whilst the twin Warders clasped hands briefly. Jahdi's fingers flickered.

_think of the possibilities!_

Manda returned her salacious grin, began to respond, but then she lowered her hands, her face going blank. Jahdi gave her a flat look, then joined Gerom and Chassin. Manda had remembered that she and Jahdi were not speaking to each other at the moment, not even with their fingers. Not after that _last_ remark concerning the flatness of her bottom! Manda knew it to be nicely rounded, the Gleeman had said so had he not, as had Metlin the silversmith as well as various other men, it was _not_ flat!

Another Warder had joined the two identical pretty fellows – they looked alike as two lentils! Just like those two stupid Eagle-Brothers back at Wet Sands, Jassim and Yassim, though a deal prettier. The other Warder was one of the Sea Folk by the looks of him, it would be well to have one of them 'aboard' since it seemed they would be travelling thus…

Manda swallowed again at the thought of voyaging over the waves, then glanced over her shoulder. No sign of the Trollocs yet, they had not seemed to have an Eyeless with them and were hanging back… cowards! The song of battle pounding in her veins had been all the incentive Manda had ever needed to make her veil herself and go running willingly to the Dance of the Spears… she had no need of a Myrddraal with a whip to make her recall _her_ duty!

The Sea Folk Warder was a handsome fellow too, if as short as Chassin. The pretty pair were looking worried, brows drawn down over those lovely dark eyes… they had very long eyelashes… "Where is Shrina?" they demanded of the Sea Folk Warder, speaking at the same time! Just like Jassim and Yassim always did, though _their_ voices were gruff and not near so melodic.

"She is yet up there," the dark-skinned fellow responded, pointing the finger of one of his tattooed hands above, and the twin Warders turned and grimly started for where the rope and ladder hung against the stone… but then, three figures appeared, racing down the steps… the tall Aes Sedai and the handsome fair-headed fellow she had seen earlier, and…

Manda scowled. Too much to hope that they would leave Cohradin behind on this forsaken rock! He _still_ would not tell them what their _toh_ was to be, only that they should stop cutting their hair as they must grow it longer in order to meet their obligation. Jahdi might be a sneaking cat and a trull with coarse hair but she was _not_ wrong when it came to Cohradin – he most definitely _was _a pig! A beast of the wetlands that they had seen grunting in its 'sty' when they had been borrowing things from one of those wetland farms… the ill-tasting ice-peppers… yes, Cohradin much resembled this 'swine' if not physically then in what passed for his character. _Pig!_

Manda watched as the Aes Sedai tied up her skirts and descended the ladder with swift grace whilst the handsome blonde fellow – was he her Warder too? How many did Aes Sedai have? – and the ugly, scarred, irritating Knife Hand slid swiftly down the rope. Then, to either side, howling Trollocs appeared, scrambling over rocks. A Myrddraal paced behind each mob, striking at them with a whip.

The others came running back from the boat, and the Sea Folk Warder drew a wicked, ivory-hilted blade – Manda was unsure if it was a short sword or a long knife – from his sash. Manda smoothly pulled a spear from behind her bow harness – but then, a reddish-yellow wall of flame leapt into being, incinerating the Shadow-twisted in the front ranks and making the others press back. Looking to her right, Manda saw another wall of flame, this one reddish-orange, the colour of Ellythia Desiama's fires and looking back at the boat saw that both she and the short, pale-haired Aes Sedai were staring intently at the walls, which extended from the boiling, bubbling sea to the cliff on either side, making a safe corridor down which the tall, red-haired Aes Sedai with the dark skin came running, the blonde fellow and Cohradin at her heels.

The sea-mount was shaking and shifting a little, Manda thought, she could feel tremors in the stones beneath her soft-booted feet. Trollocs gathered behind the fiery walls, gnashing their teeth and snarling, cruel, barbed weapons raised. Cohradin grinned at them and waved tauntingly. There were a great many of them back there behind the flames.

"What are you two still doing here?" the red-headed Aes Sedai demanded of her Sisters, "I told you to go back the ship!"

"Stop acting like you're the bloody Captain-General, Shrina!" responded the short Aes Sedai absently, staring at the yellow-red flames, "it's a good job we stayed… now make yourself useful and get all of the Aiel and Warders and whatnot into the boat."

This 'Shrina' scowled, then began to shoo them toward the beached craft as though they were chickens.

Ellythia Desiama spoke, her voice sounding strained as she squinted intently at the orange-red wall of flame. "Wait, we cannot go yet… where is Naythan?"

* * *

Using the blade in a single gloved fist, N'aethan performed a neat amputation on the pale hand holding the dark blade that lunged for his face, and then opened the Shadowman from crotch to throat whilst his un-gloved hand darted past the ward of the creature's 'brother.' It had always annoyed him that Myrddraal called each other that. Well, that was the last of them… fighting a half-dozen normally tested his skills, as it had on that night he had learned the new song, but with his leg yet half-healed, taking on the six who had come up the cliff in the wake of their fellows had tested him to his limits. More tremors from beneath, getting stronger… definitely time to go…

N'aethan dropped the black heart he was holding carelessly, wiping his hand clean on a dark cloak, his sword also, before sheathing both weapons, then noted the shocklance he had left leaning against the parapet. He had expended much of the charge on the rafts, but had best not leave it behind… he retrieved it, attaching it to the weapon clip on the belt he wore beneath the sword belt, so that it swung on his left hip to balance the sword on his right… he yet had his Brother's axe strapped to his back. He had wondered whether to leave it here, but no. It was Elder Brother's axe, not his, it belonged in his tomb… though his bones did also and _they _were not there. But though it had escaped a very long time ago by the looks of it, there might yet be a Gholam loose in the world… and he would rather face it with the original Weapon than the one Father had made.

It was then that six more Myrddraal appeared, and it began to rain fire.

* * *

The twin walls of flame quite adequately kept the Shadowspawn at bay… at least, until the fireballs began to rain down upon them. The plumes of dark, destructive fire were being launched from the cliffs to the far side of the sea-mount, arcing up high into the air before looping down toward their position. Renn hastily raised a shield between them and the dark flames which burst against the invisible barrier, whilst Ellyth scowled and sent several of her own fireballs back towards where the attack had originated. If the Kirikil hag wished to play with fire, she would be happy to oblige…

Unfortunately, the defensive and offensive actions of the two young Aes Sedai necessitated dropping the walls of flame. The Shadowspawn surged forward, a small horde of Trollocs converging on the boat, whipped-on by their Myrddraal… and time ran out for them. The Warders and Thaeus had pushed the boat down to the water at the behest of the old man, now they came running back, drawing their blades, whilst the veiled Aiel with raised spears were already flowing forward to meet the Trollocs. Battle was joined in earnest.

Ellyth had just immolated her umpteenth Trolloc when a Fade flowed past the burning, screaming Shadowspawn and lunged for her, dark blade streaking out.

A small figure appeared at Ellyth's side, tugging her out of range of the _Thakan'dar_-forged steel whilst yanking a heavy, curved blade from his sash – Ellyth stared. It was the gnarled old man from the boat. She had thought him a sailor perhaps – but the sword he brandished had a Heron-mark scored into the steel and he used it like a Master, dancing about the Fade with unusual spryness for one of his years. Four savagely economical cuts and sweeps… and the old man turned away from the Myrddraal, which, bereft of arms and legs, could only lie impotently upon its back and glare up at him with loathing. He grinned at her.

"Best way to deal with such as they – like pulling the wings off a fly," he observed in a harsh, croaking voice, before his dark eyes narrowed. "Now, pretty young Aes Sedai… into the boat with you… hop!" and much to Ellyth's surprise – a surprise too great to allow for anger – he sent her on her way with an authoritative swat on the rump! Shrina helped her into the boat, which the Twins were holding steady, immersed up to their waists amidst the waves. Ellyth risked a glance over her shoulder. The old man was bellowing orders at the Aiel, who were retreating obediently back to the boat in good order, their flickering spearheads discouraging pursuit… he casually disembowelled a Trolloc whilst he did so…

"Who _is_ that old man?" she demanded.

"Who do you _think?_" Shrina raised her voice; "stop showing-off, grampy! We have to _go!_" The old man grinned at her briefly, before gutting another Trolloc that had made the mistake of getting too close. Ellyth's dark eyes moved to the cliff summit. Where was Naythan? Renn joined them in the boat, Jabal lifting her in. She looked exhausted.

"Shrina, your grandfather told me to get in the boat and then smacked me on the bottom when I didn't move fast enough!" she complained.

Shrina sighed. "Yes, I'm afraid grandpa is _always_ doing things like that…" She clutched her brow. "My poor head!" she groaned, and then a line of lightning bolts began to march amongst the Shadowspawn ranks under cover of which the reluctant Aiel were herded into the boat by 'grampy' whilst the Warders and Thaeus resumed their places at the oars.

"Wait!"

* * *

Well, that was everything. There was a deep cut in his shoulder but he was still alive. Stepping over Shadowmen corpses, some still twitching, N'aethan looked down at the sea. The boat looked rather crowded and was halfway back to the ship, he noted. He could see Ellythia Sedai's pale face in the stern, dark eyes looking up at him. When those fireballs had begun to shoot overhead, he had been very worried, though too busy trying to stay alive amidst a maelstrom of pale, snarling faces and black, stabbing blades to pay too close an attention. The fireballs had seemed to be going the other way too. The abbreviated beach beneath was dark with Beastmen. He sniffed, and frowned.

N'aethan looked over his shoulder, counting the dark garbed pale monsters that flowed over the wall. More Myrddraal! A round dozen of them this time, all warded… the crone must _really_ want him dead! Well, he _had_ given her a good scratching to remember him by – doubtless that made it personal in her beady eyes. She must have sent damn near every Shadowman she had left…

The Myrddraal spread out, drawing their dark blades, waiting for him to come to them. N'aethan did not disappoint them. Raising a hand to the pale figure in the distant boat he turned, and approached the Shadowmen with slow, stalking deliberation. The dozen Myrddraal tensed, preparing. N'aethan smiled as he turned his back on his escaping Aes Sedai, one hand resting lightly on the hilt of the ancient, Power-wrought blade. He hoped that its former owner would approve of his actions, here, at the tomb of another dead Hero… something Heroes all had in common – they were nearly always _dead_ Heroes. Perhaps the only true Hero was a dead one? Dying for others was heroic, after all.

* * *

"No!" Ellyth shouted, as she saw Naythan wave and then turn away, his dark silhouette against the sky disappearing from sight. The other Aiel, huddled behind the rowers, had their eyes closed but Cohradin's were fixed on the top of the sea-mount also.

"Nightwatcher…" she heard him mutter, with regret.

Thaeus was rowing, he lifted his head.

"There were more Lurks coming up the cliff… he stayed to hold them off whilst we escaped… he said he would be right behind us…" Her brother was looking at her with concern, though seemed a little stricken himself at their having left one of their number behind. But they had had no choice.

More thick Trolloc arrows whined and hissed about them, occasionally impacting against the shield Renn was weaving from where she knelt in the bow.

"Turn around! We have to go back for him!"

* * *

The dozen Myrddraal remained on the plinth, strung in a grouped line between Big Brother's stone feet. They knew what he had done to their Brothers in the past weeks as well as in the past minutes, there were Shadowman corpses aplenty scattered about, after all… and they clearly wished to retain the advantage of a higher position.

N'aethan took several measured steps closer, smiling at the waiting Shadowmen, a man smiling at his own death. Slowly, he began to draw his blade from the worn leather scabbard… the Myrddraal readied themselves, their dark swords lifting… and N'aethan addressed them in the vile Shadow tongue;

"_It is a good day to die, Shadow-filth, and where better than here, at the tomb of the Firstborn?_" He nodded at the two great eroded lumps of stone. "_Those are the feet of my Brother's statue… he was a mighty warrior who knew not fear, but never did he know when he was outnumbered…_" N'aethan paused his advance, slammed the sword decisively back into the sheath and grinned.

"_Well,_ I do! '_Bye, Halfmen!_" and N'aethan turned in a blur of motion and sprinted hard for the western wall of the sea-mount, his injured leg protesting fiercely… but he had counted the steps carefully and made damn sure it was the foot of his good leg that came down hard on the edge of the parapet, pushing off in a flying leap, twenty feet out from the edge, arms flailing to gain more distance, hopefully enough to clear the abbreviated beach and hit the water, _deep_ water with any luck… though if he did not, there _were_ plenty of Beastmen down there, perhaps one of them would be so good as to cushion his fall?

The Shadowmen had looked vaguely surprised, put-out even, when he had turned and run… had they _really_ thought he was going to try and fight a dozen of them with a bad leg and a wounded shoulder? He was no Hero! He was a Shieldman, and he might only be a humble War-Construct but it did not necessarily follow on from this that he was _stupid! _ At which point, the sea came up to meet him.

* * *

Naythan made a very large splash. Ellyth stared at the waves, her heart in her mouth – and then breathed again when that head of pale hair broke the surface, as he struck out for the boat. Overlarge Trolloc arrows rained into the water around him and he submerged, legs kicking, disappearing beneath the seawater… and did not reappear again. The Warders and Thaeus had stilled the oars and the fireballs had ceased to rain down upon them. "No…" Ellyth whispered. When Naythan had appeared, making his incredible, death-defying leap, her heart had equally leapt with joy, she had been convinced that she had lost her _second_ Warder… how long could he hold his breath? She felt grief begin to well up within her again.

Then, Naythan's head broke the surface right before her, his gloved hands settling on the stern of the long rowing boat next to the rudder. He shook his head briskly, showering her with water, but she did not care.

"Naythan!" Not caring either that it further dampened her already damp dress, Ellyth threw her arms about his shoulders, pressing her cheek to his. For a moment she brushed her lips against his ear… and felt his lips brush her cheek in turn. "Thank the Creator…" Ellyth knelt back, noted that Shrina was staring at her with interest, and flushed. She tried to pull Naythan into the boat but he shook his head.

"No room." He began to kick his legs, adding to the impetus of the resumed rowing.

"I thought that you were going to stay behind, to guard the gate like dear Atual did," she was babbling, uncaring in her relief.

Naythan grinned and shook his head. "Father said I must stay close to the Finder of the Key. That is _you_, Mistress!"

Ellyth smiled, then noted Shrina eyeing her shrewdly, and flushed again. Shrina grinned.

Then, the beach, and the Shadowspawn infesting it, abruptly exploded.

* * *

N'aethan had not been sailing in an Age – literally! – but had always enjoyed travelling over the water by means of the wind. This black-hulled ship was much like the yachts on Lake Xiril that he remembered, single-masted and narrow… it looked fast. After ensuring that his Aes Sedai and the other Aes Sedai were safely aboard, he followed, pulling himself up the ladder, his good foot hopping from one wooden rung to another, his bad leg trailing. He had a feeling that his exertions had set him back a little on the road to recovery, but he should be right as rain in a day or two. Water flowed copiously from his clothing as he stood upright on the deck, swaying a little, adjusting his stance to the motion of the waves… it would not take long for him to get his sea-legs back, it never did.

Meanwhile, the short, dark, gnarled old man who had held the tiller was bellowing orders in a harsh, croaky voice.

"Oilfishers, set the mainsail!" The identical twin Warders swarmed up the mast, about which the Shaido were squatting on their heels, clutching their spears with white knuckles and looking disgruntled.

"_Atha'an Miere_, take your station!" The dark-skinned Warder with the tattooed hands leapt to a large, spoked wheel, set up on a kind of abbreviated quarterdeck. They certainly seemed to follow the old fellow's orders with alacrity, there was no doubt who was Captain of _this_ ship…

"Whitecloak, attend to the bowsprit!" The young, fair-haired fellow who was Ellythia Sedai's brother, though did not look like her, was already making his way forward to the long pole, stepping over various Aiel to do so… the old man regarded them with disfavour.

"Aielmen! And women too… bad luck!" He nodded to a hatch set in the deck behind the mast. "You're in the way – cargo belongs down _there!_" The Shaido did not argue, seemed only too glad to shift the hatch and venture below-decks, away from the unpleasant sight of the sea, meek as lambs – they clearly knew who the Captain was also! N'aethan grinned. The three young Aes Sedai were grouped behind the wheel and appeared to be bickering with each other… which left only…

"You, with the funny eyes… what are you bloody grinning at me like that for, fellow?" the Captain demanded of him, "you look like the flaming Chachin Cat!"

N'aethan adopted a more solemn mien. "Permission to come aboard, Captain?" he enquired, politely.

"You already _are_ aboard and I'm no Captain – Sailmaster, call me!"

"Yes Sailmaster," N'aethan responded deferentially, then jerked a thumb at the boat bobbing below. "Should bring aboard?" There were davits at the stern, but it would be a difficult operation to perform alone…

"No time for that," the Sailmaster growled, whipping the sword from his sash and chopping through the painter. The rowing boat drifted away, back toward the sea-mount where a whirlpool was forming about the shattered base, flickering light flashing in its depths. "In fact, while I hate to leave a perfectly good anchor behind…"

N'aethan was way ahead of him. "Will stand ready to cut cable on your command, Sailmaster," he affirmed, limping over to the chain leading from the capstan down into the water. The old man nodded with perhaps a hint of grudging approval.

"You've got bloody strange eyes but you've worked the waves before at least," he muttered laconically, before stumping up to the quarterdeck whilst bellowing a fresh string of orders.

Cohradin's head poked up out of the hatch. "_Vron'cor_, it is dark down here and there is a bad smell," he complained. N'aethan grinned, stripping off his sopping wet coat and draping it over the capstan.

"Will make a sailor out of you yet, Cohradin!" he assured the Shaido.

Cohradin frowned, but stayed where he was, shading his eyes.

"That Shadow-running Lost One is up there," he commented, "he is looking at us." N'aethan took a length of anchor chain in his hands and glanced over his shoulder at the small figure up at the top of the sea-mount, cold blue eyes staring down at the ship. The Friend of the Dark who had taught him the new song! The ballad about the wind that shook the willow. So he sang it loudly, whilst waving sarcastically. Cohradin joined-in with the waving, if not the singing.

N'aethan could see the powerful, thick weaves of air forming above, the nimbus of light unfolding about the three Aes Sedai – they had linked and Shrinalla Sedai was in control, casting the wind webs as the twin Warders dropped a black sail from the yardarm, belling with wind, the ship surging forward…

"Cut the cable!" roared the Sailing-Master. N'aethan strained, the veins standing out in his forearms, a link bending – and the thick chain snapped, the end attached to the submerged anchor rattling down through the hawse-hole and as though a hound released from a tether, the ship sprang forward. They were away! Safe.

No, not quite. A shrieking and flapping from above, bat-winged shadows across the sun, and then, the Draghkar were upon them. A great many Draghkar.

* * *

"Release us!" Ellyth demanded of Shrina, who was still using she and Renn as though they were a pair of _angreal!_ Not that it had not been pleasant, to link with her Sisters who were also, in a very real sense, her sisters… to feel Renn's calm certainty and Shrina's fiery determination through the temporary bond that made them one, to draw strength and comfort from two much-loved friends and have them do the same from her – but there were a host of Draghkar descending upon them, and Shrina had not broken the link, leaving she and Renn as helpless as babes!

"_Shrina!_"

"No time!" shouted Shrina above the shrieks of the attacking Draghkar – who at least were not singing – and Ellyth felt _saidar_ flow through her and into Shrina as lightning crackled above and charred, Shadow-twisted monstrosities fell into the sea.

Renn scowled, grabbing Shrina's sleeve, tugging it up and plucking the slim, wicked dagger from the hidden sheath they both knew Shrina wore there. Renn turned, aiming a swipe at a Draghkar as it swooped past, missing its wing by a hands-breadth. Ellyth frowned. She really ought to carry a knife herself…

"Where is your sword?"

"Down in the cabin… didn't think I'd need it… hah!" Shrina's eyes were on the sky… with a wicked flash of her teeth, eyes lighting up, she sent more jagged forks of lightning surging through the Draghkar that flocked above and more misshapen forms tumbled into the waves.

Ellyth scowled, wishing she could break the link – Shrina _always_ hogged control of such bonds when they formed them! – and then remembered that she was not unarmed after all, and reached into her belt pouch… she had forgotten to give it back to Naythan…

A half-dozen Draghkar landed on the quarterdeck rail, clinging with clawed hands and feet. Keeping his eyes firmly on the treacherous, rock-strewn waters ahead, Jabal swept his blade from his sash, half-decapitating the closest with one hand whilst continuing to spin the wheel deftly with the other. Shrina's unusual grandparent accounted for two more with the same stroke of his heavy, curved blade whilst Renn kept another at bay with inexpert yet vigorous sweeps of Shrina's dagger.

The remaining two Draghkar lunged at Ellyth. She gave the stud in the heavy, braided handle a firm push and the dull silver blade shot out. Scowling murderously, she slashed the nearest Draghkar across its gaunt face, a thin black line appearing in the pale skin over its jaw. The creature uttered a rending shriek, clutching a clawed hand to its face, then collapsed onto the deck at her feet in a boneless, leather-winged heap, stone dead. The other Draghkar paused, regarding her with fear and astonishment, but only for a moment, time enough for 'grandpa' to pull his blade from the twitching body of the Draghkar Renn had been confronting, to neatly take the remaining creature's head off. He glanced at the unusual, Gholam-killing knife.

"What kind of poison do you put on that?" he wondered, before his dark eyes moved past her to the deck below. "My! That Warder of yours is a handy fellow!"

Ellyth looked and could only agree. "He most certainly is," she said, feeling proud of Naythan, feeling other emotions concerning him also… all mixed with a fair amount of confusion… what was she thinking of? They were in the middle of a bloody battle! She scowled. "And I do _not_ utilise _poison_, I am no assassin of the Shadow, Master Tolamani!"

"Aw! Call me 'grandpa!' "

* * *

Dark blood rained on N'aethan from above and whilst bringing his boot down firmly on the thin neck of the Draghkar at his feet, more feeling than hearing the snap of bone as the rest of the Sirens were shrieking so loudly, he glanced up, smiling. The twin Warders were up there, each facing a different way, their backs to the mast, booted feet propped on the yardarm, each reaching back with one hand to grip his brother's belt, holding each other firmly on their precarious perch whilst using the other hand to set their slim blades in a whirling, defensive pattern, from which no Draghkar who strayed too close escaped unscathed. The young Thaeus fellow up beside the bowsprit was using a similar form though two-handed, his feet set to either side of the brief mast that extended from the bow, keeping the whirling Draghkar at bay, though occasionally snapping into a lunge, his blade returning dark with blood.

The Shaido had swarmed back up from below, veiling themselves as they did so, and were lining the rail to either side, stabbing with spears and expending their few remaining arrows. Cohradin was grinning, and calling out a number each time his bowstring snapped and a Draghkar went tumbling into the sea. One of the creatures landed on the deck behind him – without troubling to look, Cohradin swept the elbow of his drawing hand viciously back, impacting the Draghkar's throat with a crunch of cartilage, before nocking another of Tevin's arrows to the string.

Which left N'aethan. Using his good leg, he sprang up to stand upon the capstan, pulling Elder Brother's Howling-Axe from his back. The four silver blades shone, reflecting the sunlight. Grinning, he began to whirl it over his head… and the Draghkar shrieked and covered their ears and fell from the lightning-filled sky.

* * *

Ellyth sagged against the rail amidships. The last of the Draghkar corpses were being tipped over the side, the shaking sea-mount surrounded by swirling light at the base diminishing in their wake. Renn was bustling about Healing those who needed it, no one had been seriously harmed but there were a fair amount of claw wounds distributed amongst the Warders and the Aiel. Shrina was engaged in exuberantly kissing her 'boys' which she always did after they had come through danger together. Master Tolamani – who she absolutely _refused _to call 'grandpa!' – was watching this display of affection darkly, she noted.

Thaeus joined her and Ellyth gave her brother a warm hug. "It is very good to see you," she murmured, "for all that you are a little _beast_, yes?"

Thaeus grinned. "Yes! It is good to see you also, beloved sister… though I suppose that you had not looked for us?"

"For _any_ of you! How came you here?"

Thaeus shrugged and moved over to the rail, helping Naythan tip the last corpse into the sea. "Thereby hangs a long tale," he muttered, "and one I will let your Sisters tell to you, I think, as they are probably itching to, yes?" Thaeus grinned back at her; "but it involves a _Horn!_"

Ellyth gaped, then after a single glance at Naythan, heavy with meaning – though quite _what_ meaning she was yet unsure – she started for the quarterdeck, trying to ignore the unpleasant sensation of the deck moving beneath her slippered feet, and the effect this motion was having on her stomach. In all the excitement, she had quite forgot how much she loathed travelling by-

At this point, her train of thought was rather abruptly interrupted when the distant sea-mount exploded. All eyes turned in the direction of their wake at the enormous booming noise, even Jabal's before Shrina's objectionable old grandfather barked at him to "mind his heading." The sea-mount that had hidden the mysterious tomb of Naythan's brother was simply… gone, just an expanse of boiling water slowly dissipating. Then, the stones began to fall all around, pebble-dashing the sea to either side.

As the rocks rained down, Renn quickly raised a shield of Air over the ship, though not quite quickly enough – a blur of movement at Ellyth's side and Naythan was there, arm raised protectively over her – and caught neatly in his gloved hand, a chunk of pale rock that would surely have brained her! Further missiles from above were deflected harmlessly from Renn's shield and they continued on their way, skirting the final submerged rocks and steering south.

"Thank-you, Gaidin," Ellyth murmured, "it would not have done to escape _that _accursed place," she nodded at World's End, with a shiver of gratitude that she was finally free of it, "and yet fall prey to a _rock!_"

Naythan grinned, tossing the chunk of white stone into the air and catching it neatly. "A piece of Elder Brother's statue," he commented, "I will keep." He tucked it into a pocket.

Ellyth regarded him somewhat suspiciously. "I would assume that there is some reason why your father's 'secret place' is now at the bottom of the sea, yes?" What had he and Shrina _done_ down there?

Thaeus joined them, eyeing Naythan curiously, and when he did not answer, said; "there was a deep pool of the One Power, the male half, _saidin_ in liquid form…"

Ellyth's eyes widened. "What did you do?"

Naythan shrugged. "Threw a rock in a pond, did I," he observed, "made some ripples that got bigger… and bigger… and bigger even than that."

"What is _that _supposed to mean?" Ellyth demanded crossly.

"A _ter'angreal_,a special rock that needs all five Powers to initiate the chain-reaction… the whirlpool effect… something Father told me to do if it ever looked like the Shadow would take his secret place from him – he would be dead by this point, assumed he, so left the task of it to Middle Brother and I." Naythan smiled grimly. "The crone will not steal Father's secrets _now._ Hit by a lump of rock was she, hope I!"

Ellyth blinked, then sighed. Naythan! She only ever seemed to find out about what he was doing long after he had actually bloody done it! Further questions would clearly be to no avail, so she decided to move on to another topic of enquiry.

"Excuse me Naythan Gaidin, brother, I must confer with my Sisters concerning a certain… Horn." As she glided away, sure-footed enough for all that she was beginning to feel a little queasy, she overheard Thaeus mutter;

"You move very fast, Shieldman! You jump like a grasshopper also, yes?"

"_Sin'aethan Shadar Cor_ has many accomplishments. You would like to hear him play the fiddle?"

Ellyth shook her head, re-ascending one of the short flights of steps that lay to either side of the low door to the cabin that nestled beneath the quarterdeck. 'Grandpa' had made it quite clear that only the Sail-Master (himself) the Helmsman (Jabal, presumably) and Aes Sedai were permitted on this raised section of deck and had already chased Cohradin off it twice. He did not seem to care for having the Aiel aboard and clearly wished them to remain below-decks with the rest of the cargo! Ellyth paused on the last step, her dark gaze drifting back to the cabin door as that familiar, itching sensation awoke in her mind… there was a _ter'angreal_ in there, she was sure of it, a very old and powerful one… surely not?

Shrina had ceased canoodling with the Twins for the time being and was returning to the quarterdeck via the other set of steep wooden steps – she paused also and they regarded each other across the intervening space.

"Well?" Ellyth demanded.

"Well what?" Shrina responded.

"Did you find it?"

"Find what?"

"Your silly Horn of Valere, of course!"

Shrina flushed.

"I am still rather annoyed with you about that by the way, though I suppose your rescuing me from almost certain death mitigates the offence somewhat, yes? But really! How long have we been friends, Shrina? Waiting until I was sent away to Heal sick cows and then just sneaking off like a thief in the night, without a word of explanation or goodbye-"

"I wrote you a note! Or did Renn forget to give it to you? I'll bet she did…"

"Well?" Ellyth demanded, sticking to her catapults, "did you find it or not?"

"No!" Shrina wailed across to her, "I found _another_ bloody Horn, the Horn of Th- Pth- well anyway, it doesn't summon Heroes, just confusing oddly-dressed folk who… well, at least they told me where _you_ were, Ellyth…"

"Well…" Ellyth smiled. "In that case, I suppose that I can forgive you for deserting me." Shrina smiled back and they ascended the rest of the steps and moved to meet each other for a formal embrace, just behind where Jabal stood at the wheel, Renn with her arm about him. She glanced over her shoulder and smiled at the sight of her friends kissing each other on the cheek.

"I am sorry that I didn't tell you about the wedding," Renn added, "I would have loved to have you both as my Maids of Honour… not that Shrina is exactly a 'maiden' of course…" Shrina scowled "…but it was all supposed to be a secret! I didn't want my mother to find out… or _the_ Mother…" she frowned up at Jabal, "but _someone_ blabbed to all his Warder friends!" Jabal did not seem to notice her ire, he was whistling softly to himself while he held the wheel steady, seemed happy to be upon the waves, his native element.

"Well, the Twins told _me_," Shrina stated.

"And dear Atual told _me_…" Ellyth blinked. "Hold, what do you mean, _another_ Horn? How many are there?"

"Three! There is a silver one too, apparently… mine is bronze, though. Do you want to see it?"

Ellyth nodded and the three of them went below, to the small cabin beneath the quarterdeck. Shrina nodded at the narrow bunk.

"I've had to share that with Renn every night, and she snores!"

"I do not! And you keep jabbing me with your pointy elbows, Shrina!"

Ellyth winced, wondering how the three of them were to fit in the bunk. There was an ornate gold chest covered in silver chasework set at the foot of it.

Shrina pushed her thumbs against the lid of the chest but nothing happened. "Oh, you do it Renn, I can never remember the right way to…" Shrina crawled up onto the bunk and Renn took her place. A few deft touches against the decorative whorls and the lid sprang open.

Ellyth watched from by the door as Renn reached inside and withdrew a curled huntsman's horn cast in age-darkened bronze.

"_That_ is a _ter'angreal_," she stated, definitively.

"_We know!_"

"Shrina, your Warders persist in stating their observations simultaneously, but should you and Renn commence this irritating practice then I believe that I shall promptly throw myself into the sea, yes?" Ellyth's tone was frosty, but not without a certain measure of irony.

Renn grinned, frowned as Shrina rudely snatched the Horn from her hands, then grinned further. "Oh Ellyth, I _have_ missed your sense of humour!"

"If not the constant 'yessing,' " Shrina added absently, tucking her legs beneath her and regarding the Horn in her hands with a curious mixture of pride and disappointment. Ellyth scowled, but Shrina obliviously added, "that strapping new Warder of yours called me 'Hornsounder' just like Ghoetam always does… and he did an odd bow, made the scary-looking red-eyed Aielman bow too… seemed to regard me as being rather important…"

Ellyth's scowl darkened. "_Strapping?_"

Shrina blithely continued; "…perhaps it isn't the Horn of Valere, but even so… perhaps it isn't _all_ bad, being the Sounder of the Horn of Pth- Thp-"

"T'oph," Renn helpfully supplied, pronouncing it perfectly.

"Yes… that…" Shrina raised her gaze and grinned wolfishly. "I know – I'll give it a good hard blow, then Ellyth can meet the Sages too!"

"Shrina!" Renn objected with exasperation, "you can't keep sounding it whenever you feel like it, it's disrespectful!"

"Pah!"

"Besides, this is a rather small boat-"

"_Ship!_"

"-and I don't think there would be room for them all…"

Ellyth blinked, then sighed and sat down next to Shrina, trying to ignore the encroaching queasiness that the motion of the waves was engendering in her lower abdomen. Renn flipped the lid closed and seated herself on the ornate golden chest.

"Start from the beginning."

So they did.

* * *

**Part II : The Horn**

The Towers of the Watchers loomed above them, grim and grey.

Renn had just finished telling her story to Shrina…

"Well, fair enough, I suppose, that Lord Wakime should want to kill Roth. And he said he was going to write a _nice_ song, that fat-headed liar! But that _still_ doesn't explain how you got to Falme so fast, or what you're even doing here!"

"Um…"

"Oh, never mind all that! Well, here we are… the Towers of the Watchers." Shrina gestured expansively at the towering stone edifices that seemed to grow from the cliffs, so that it was hard to tell where granite rock-face ended and ancient stonework began. The circuitous path Shrina had taken led to an impressive set of wooden gates, somewhat war-damaged, which stood open on a solemn courtyard hacked out of the cliff, overlooked by narrow windows and carved colonnades. The towers soared overhead.

Shrina sighed. "Wish I could afford an inn… the bloody place only seems to have got more depressing in my absence, and grandpa certainly doesn't approve of the Twins and me!" She glanced at the flagstones that echoed hollowly beneath their horse's hooves. Traces of dark, dried blood were still evident between them. She shuddered.

Renn glanced at the stains also. "Is that blood?" she enquired distractedly, before looking down toward Falme, the battered town spread out below them.

Shrina nodded grimly. "The Seanchan bleed like everyone else," she muttered, hoping – not for the first time – that her grandfather wouldn't do something violent to the Twins… some hope! It had been more than ten years, but grandpa hadn't changed a bit!

_Falme was still in chaos when they arrived, the streets full of panicked refugees, frightened to stay but too scared to leave. The harbour was jammed with wrecked, bluff-bowed ships, but Shrina was pleased to note that there were a few brightly painted fishing craft out – it would take Tarmon Gai'don itself to make a Falman put down his nets! _

_Shrina turned A'vron up the Tower Hill, the Twins to either side, hands on hilts, scanning the crowds with wary suspicion. Thaeus heeled his roan gelding toward the harbour. _

"_Where are you going, your Lordship?" Shrina demanded, over her shoulder._

"_To buy drinks for talkative types," was his cool response. They had passed the place where the Legion of Whitecloaks had fought and died against the invaders. Shrina supposed Thaeus wished to find out if he been the only survivor…_

"_Well, present yourself for dinner later," she commanded, "the Do Miere A'vron shall not turn you away – we are a hospitable folk!"_

_Thaeus grinned back at her and made a saluting gesture, which looked a little odd without a helmet, then trotted away. Shrina smiled, then noticed that the Twins were eyeing her. "What?" _

_One of the gates was hanging askew at the Tower courtyard and signs of fighting – discarded, broken spears and spent arrows – littered the cobbles. Gory drag-marks indicated the removal of corpses. _

_Shrina dismounted and led A'vron through the gate, embracing the Source and holding her sword at the ready for good measure. The Twins drew their own blades and attempted to push past her and take the lead, getting tangled with each other in the process. There were strangely armoured men inside – undoubtedly these 'Shornshan' – but they did not look like monsters. In fact, hands bound roughly behind them, kneeling in a long line, the bruised, dirty soldiers looked simply defeated. A dozen were still alive, several more were dead. They were being guarded by a score of short, stocky men with dark skin, wearing black sheepskin coats, each with an eye above the waves emblazoned on the back, loose black trews tucked into boots. They held straight blades and wicked barbed spears as though they knew how to use them. Which they did. _

_More signs of fierce fighting marred the courtyard and an old but spry man, thin wisps of white hair still clinging tenaciously around his ears, finished carefully wiping his curved, heron-mark blade clean, before taking a step along the line of captured soldiery and raising the gleaming, razor-sharp sword on high._

"_May the Storm-father take you, Invader," he rasped uncompromisingly in a gravelly, cracked voice, before sweeping the blade down and neatly beheading the prisoner. The head tumbled at his feet, the body, spraying blood, slumped forward. _

"_Grandpa!" shouted Shrina, shocked, "what are you _doing?!_"_

_The old man grinned with yellow-toothed delight. "Vixen!" he roared, then scowled. "What does it _look_ like I'm doing? One moment…" He gave the blade another wipe, took a step, and neatly decapitated another of the bound soldiers with a grunt of effort. _

"_Grandpa! They're _prisoners!_ I know they've done some beastly things but… you can't just execute them!"_

"_I am Ashoka Tolamani, Master of the Watch… I can do whatever I want!" Grandpa lowered the heavy, curved blade, flicking the blood from it so that it spattered onto the flagstones to join the spreading pool at his feet. "Carry on, second." He tossed the sword to a younger Watcher, the tallest, built like a bull, who caught the heron-marked hilt deftly and grinned at Shrina. _

"_Hello coz," he called cheerfully, "nice to have you back!" then glided smoothly forward to take off another head with a powerful, two-handed blow._

"_Hello Thanakah," responded Shrina weakly, then sheathed her sword, put her hands on her hips and regarded her grandfather with extreme disapproval as he paced towards her. "Really, grandfather, this is barbaric behav-eee!"_

_The old man swept Shrina up in a hug, spinning her in a circle, before planting a smacking kiss on her cheek. "Little vixen!" he shouted, "about time you shifted your pretty behind back to the old place for a visit!"_

_Shrina hugged her grandfather back, though managed to do so whilst glaring at her cousin, squaring-up behind _another_ prisoner – "it is so good to see you again grampy – what happened to your _hair?_ – but really – Thanakah, stop that! – really, you can't just execute-" the sword sliced down and another headless torso slumped twitching to the flags. "Ahh! Stop it! This is a bloodbath!" _

"_It bloody well is, vixen," growled grandpa, eyeing the Twins with disfavour. "So these are the two oilfishers you wrote about in your occasional letters, are they?"_

"_They are my Warders," Shrina responded primly._

"_Oh, is _that_ what they call it in Tar Valon?" _

"_Don't change the subject! How can you-?"_

"_We're giving them what they wanted! We were going to throw them off the cliff but they _demanded_ death by the sword!" _

"_Don't be difficult, grampy! And please tell cousin Thanakah to stop beheading people!"_

_At which point, one of the blank-eyed, stony-faced prisoners looked up and glared at Master Tolamani. "No!" he snapped, "continue with the executions, oath-breaker! The Empress – may she live forever – wills it!" He had a strange, slurred way of speaking. _

_Grandpa eyed Shrina. "You see, vixen? They _want_ to be executed. Carry on, second, I'm going to show our young vixen the cage."_

"_What cage?"_

"_You two stay here!" The Twins glowered but remained in the courtyard whilst grandpa hustled Shrina up some stairs, along a covered colonnade and out onto a balcony overlooking the waves. All of the balconies did, in fact, since watching these waves had been the primary task of the Do Miere A'vron for a thousand years. _

"_Some home-coming!" Shrina grumbled along the way, "I'm always telling the boys… I mean, my Warders, of the sophistication and civilisation of the Watchers Over the Waves and what is the first thing they see? My own grandfather, separating heads from necks!"_

"_Hush, little vixen!"_

"_You mustn't call me that, grampy, I am Aes Sedai now and not your little-"_

"_Alright! Hush that pouty mouth and look down there, Vixen Sedai!" _

_Shrina scowled, but leant over the balcony to look in the indicated direction. Some way below, equidistant between stone balustrade and pounding breakers, a small cage hung on a long chain… the disconsolate woman inside was clad in a rather dirty, pleated gown of an odd cut and had a very strange hairstyle._

"_Hoy!" shouted grandpa, "are you dead yet, High Lady?"_

_The woman raised her head with weary resignation, fixing cold blue eyes on them. She did not trouble to answer. Shrina stared. _

"_High Lady Pharicke, this is my grand-daughter, Shrinalla Tolamani… Aes Sedai!" grandpa called out by way of introductions. The High Lady in the cage scowled. _

"_It is only fitting that the leader of the oath-breakers – those who watched in vain! – should boast a marath'damane as his kin!" she snarled venomously._

_Grandpa cackled at this. "I am but the Watch-Master, and only command what is left of our order because our leaders all died in that cage, the cage that _you_ shall die in," he responded, with vengeful relish. _

"_What in the waves is going on here?" Shrina was perplexed… noblewomen in cages, warriors demanding to be executed… these Shornshan were all mad! _

_Grandpa explained. He had been leading the Watch on a patrol of Toman Head to investigate attacks by brigands when the invasion came. "We were too busy expecting trouble to come from the land," he growled disgustedly, "when we should have been watching the sea! Bloody typical, you watch the waves for a thousand years but you're off hunting down outlaws when the flaming armies of the bleeding Hawkwing finally turn up!"_

"_Grandfather!" Shrina protested, "how can you say such a terrible thing?!"_

"_Because we were _betrayed_ little vixen! Those Seanchan devils called us 'oath-breakers' and-"_

_ "You _are_ oath-breakers!" snarled the High Lady in the cage. _

_ "Silence, prisoner! They swept in here, treating everyone like dirt, marching all the Healers off in collars, forcing us all to take their oaths to wait and obey… I took 'em myself when I came back to spy-out the enemy – I broke _that_ oath, High Lady, and was glad to do it! No, little vixen, the Hawkwing's 'return' was _not_ what we awaited – it was a big bloody disappointment!"_

_ "Clearly," Shrina drawled, regarding the High Lady with disfavour. _

_ "Wasn't a burning thing we could do," grandpa muttered dolefully, "there were too many of those devils, with their monstrous beasts and their captive Aes Sedai… we lay-up in the woods, ambushed the occasional patrol when there weren't any of those flying things about… then, when it happened, the Horn and the Whitecloaks and the Dragon Reborn up in the sky and all that… well, we took the opportunity…" grandpa raised his voice pointedly, glaring down at the High Lady in the cage, "…to take back what was ours!"_

_ The High Lady sniffed and turned away, staring out to sea as generations of Watchers had done before the Return. "The High Lady there had set-up residence here with her men – bunch of fanatics! _They_ took some killing, I tell you, but your cousin Thanakah and a couple of the other lads scaled the cliff from the seaward side whilst I led the attack on the gates. When they managed to take the High Lady prisoner, those guards of hers threw down their blades and spears and gave themselves up, as meek as lambs… but _only_ on the condition that we chop their heads off! Something to do with failing in their sworn duty… they're as mad as Aielmen, those Seanchan devils!"_

_ Shrina blinked. It was all quite a lot to take in…_

_ The High Lady, though studiously ignoring them, had nonetheless been eavesdropping. "You are fortunate, oath-breaker," she called out in her strange accents, "had there been any _Gardeners_ of the Death Watch Guard assigned to me, it would have been a different story, I assure you."_

_ Shrina scowled down at her. "Are you a Darkfriend?" she enquired. _

_ "Certainly not, marath'damane! Were you properly leashed, I should have you whipped for your insolence, your tongue removed also, perhaps."_

_ "Pity!" responded Shrina, "because if you _were_ a Darkfriend I could guarantee your cage would _not_ react well to a lightning bolt!" _

_ "That's the spirit, little vixen!" _

_ "You up there – cease babbling to your marath'damane kin and throw me down a knife that I might honourably open my veins!"_

_ "Come along," muttered grandpa, "let us speak somewhere more private."_

_ "Yes, these constant interruptions are rather aggravating," Shrina agreed, giving the High Lady a last poisonous glare as they went back down the colonnade. _

_ "They put them in there," grandpa observed mournfully, "all of them, in that filthy cage. The First Watcher, old Balzadar, they dragged him out of his High Chair and sat him in the cage, said he'd Watched for the wrong thing… he lasted a week… tough old bird, he was. Then they chose a new First and it was his turn to go in the cage… if you find the Towers somewhat deserted then it is this practice which is to blame." He scowled grimly. "It was the High Lady's idea, so now it's _her_ turn to sit in the cage. I only wish we'd caught the High Lord Turak…" – Shrina's ears pricked up – "…but when I took the lads down the hill in the aftermath, someone had already got to him first. A better Blademaster than he, I can only presume."_

_ They reached the balcony overlooking the courtyard. The prisoners were all dead, members of the Watch were loading them onto carts. The Twins held the horses, looking up at Shrina enquiringly. _

"_Warders of the Tower!" her cousin Thanakah was exclaiming while carefully cleaning the heavy, curved blade, "I have always wished to spar with a Gaidin, and now I have two! Though you look as one person with two bodies…"_

_ "Second, cease bothering my grandchild's paramours and bring that blade back – it was a lend, not a keep!" Thanakah reverently returned the power-wrought blade to its sheath and trotted up the stairs, kneeling and presenting it to the Watch Master. "I wasn't there in time to revenge myself on the High Lord Turak," grandpa explained, disappointed, "so I took his bloody sword in recompense!" _

_ "Did you find anything _else_ there?" Shrina enquired, though without much hope. _

_ "Some scantily-clad serving girls, a fine collection of cuendillar which we will be taking down to Tanchico to sell, all proceeds to go towards repairing the damage those bloody 'damanes' of theirs did – have you seen the state of the cobbles? – oh, and a large, gold box…" grandpa eyed Shrina shrewdly, "looked like it used to contain a _horn_ of some kind… though it was empty."_

_ "Oh," Shrina commented, muttering; "_bloody Hornsneaker!_" under her breath._

_ "Well – and I'm sorry it wasn't _you_ little vixen – whoever did sound the thing and fulfilled the Miereallen Prophecy… at least they didn't like the Seanchan devils any more than us."_

_ Shrina thrust out her lower lip. She didn't care that the Hornsneaker had helped to liberate her hometown from the oppressors. "It should have been _me!_"_

"Yes, it _is _blood," Shrina curtly confirmed to Renn, adding; "trust me – you really don't want to know!"

"I am sure that I don't," Renn agreed equably, "but what I _do_ want to know, Shrina, is all about this _Horn_ that you're supposed to have found…"

"I'm not _supposed _to have found it, I _have _found it, and I've sounded it twice now!"

Renn sighed. While the Warders and Thaeus attended to the horses, Shrina led her up several flights of stairs to a mullioned doorway set in the side of one of the towers. The circular bed-chamber inside, in addition to a bed, contained several items of massive furniture, oaken cupboards and a writing desk, chests… and a large, gold box, like a flattened cube, ornately decorated with silver chasings.

"It's in there," Shrina said, then wailed; "and I can't get the bloody thing open again!"

Renn knelt by the chest, studying the intricate workings on the top, then pushed in certain places… and the lid sprung open. Inside nestled a curled huntsman's horn cast in bronze. Renn traced the script around the wide bell; _Ti mi aven Moridin isainde vadin._ 'The grave is no bar to my call.' She blinked.

"It doesn't summon Heroes," muttered Shrina, sounding miffed, "just Sages."

"Then we must speak to them," Renn stated firmly, trying to control her excitement, "they may be able to tell us where Ellyth is."

Shrina's eyes lit up. "I hadn't thought of that!"

* * *

"Hello again Sages, I hope that you can make yourselves _useful _for a change."

"_Shrina!_"

"Ask your questions, Hornsounder," said Ghoetam, "we shall try to answer."

"Very well. I am worried about my friend Ellyth, who has gone missing in the- no, wait, I suppose I should give you her full name, it is Ellythia Desiama, she is a Noblewoman who sticks her pointy nose in the air a lot, slender with pale skin and her hair is in ringlets – oh, it's a sort of dull brown colour, by the way – and also-"

"Hornsounder?"

"What?"

"That is not a question, that is a description."

"Well, it _was_ until you interrupted it!"

"Your pardon." Ghoetam paused a moment, touching a chubby finger to his lips which were, as ever, curved into a half-smile. "Hornsounder, would I be right in thinking that you wish us to… locate a missing personage? That is to say, a person who has gone missing?"

"_Yes!_"

They were at the top of the cliffs, hidden in a grove of towering oak trees, an ancient place where the _Do Miere A'vron _customarily cremated their dead. There had been quite a few funerary rites held here of late, as mounds of charcoal and scattered ashes attested.

Renn could barely believe her eyes. Shrina had sounded the bronze horn and immediately, a thick white fog had descended and with it, scores of people in ancient dress who now surrounded them on all sides. She had curtsied politely to these great sages of the past and was doing her best to adopt a respectful countenance, if only to make up for Shrina's dreadful behaviour! She had been introduced to three of them in a cursory way and was still reeling, not only was she looking at Lord Ghoetam, the Seeker of Enlightenment, but Anla the Wise Counsellor also! The other one, a gaunt, craggy-faced, bearded individual in a brown robe was called Derwuaad, which she knew translated loosely as 'Oak Man.' He seemed to approve of the setting.

Ghoetam had spread his hands apologetically. "I regret that finding your friend may not be feasible…"

"You managed to find Matrim bloody Cauthon of the Three Rivers or whatever it was called! You showed me a picture of him – a moving picture! – where he was grinning smugly and fondling my burning Horn of Valere!"

The Wise Councillor smoke up in her nasal voice, with lecturing tones. "But that was permissible within the strictures under which we exist and operate."

"Huh?"

"Since Master Cauthon is, like yourself, a Hornsounder-"

"He is not! He's the bloody Horn_sneaker_ and when I get my hands on him-"

"_Shrina!_" gasped Renn again, scandalised, clutching at her arm, "you can't talk to Anla the Wise Councillor like _that_, it's disrespectful-"

"Stay out of this, Renn! All I want is for these impossible Age-Sages to tell us where Ellyth is and I don't see why they can't perform that simple task!"

Derwuaad was looking thoughtful, Ghoetam amused. Anla shrugged. "We are permitted to speak of the Horn… sneaker, as you put it… but even were we allowed to search the Pattern itself for this… this…"

"Missing personage," supplied Ghoetam.

"Yes, it would only be by some great cosmic confluence, the working of the Age Lace itself, a hundred intricate threads coming together to form-"

"Hornsounder," Derwuaad interjected in his gravelly voice, "this associate thee wishest to find... she hast pale skin and brown hair, say you? Mayest it be the colour of chestnut bark, and her eyes also, large and dark?"

"And glisteny!"

"And serves she the Great Hall, as do thee and thy companion?"

"Hah?" Shrina blinked.

"He means, is Ellyth an Aes Sedai, like us!" Renn hissed.

"Yes, of course she is! Ellythia Sedai of the Blue Ajah, she has gone missing somewhere in World's End, she is short and snippy and… um… she always keeps her fingernails very clean…"

"Rather prim, bit of an ironic sense of humour… but one of the most decent people I have ever met!" Renn added.

"Ellyth is our best friend and we're very worried about her!"

Derwuaad nodded thoughtfully, then glanced at Anla. "A confluence in the Pattern indeed!" he rumbled, before turning back to Shrina and Renn. "Excuse-me Hornsounder and Companion-to-Hornsounder, but I must ask a question of one other concerning your missing friend." With that, the tall, bearded fellow abruptly disappeared. Shrina jumped as Derwuaad just seemed to pop out of existence… she tightened her grip on the Horn… what were they talking about? She had wanted dead _Heroes_ from the past, not dead… _confusing people!_

While they waited for Derwuaad to return from wherever he had gone, Renn found her gaze drawn back to one of the Sages in particular. He had deep-set eyes, a beak-like nose and very bushy eyebrows… and the tunic, the odd leggings… there weren't very many portraits left, but she had seen a copy of an ancient woodcut, long since consigned to the flames of the Trolloc Wars… the man in that smeared charcoal sketch that still bore singe-marks from the War of a Hundred Years at its edges had been wearing similar clothing… and surely there couldn't be that many scholars and sages with a nose _that_ big? The accounts almost always mentioned the nose…

"Excuse me," Renn asked the small, wiry man, "but you wouldn't happen to be Willim of Maneches, would you?"

The man regarded her and nodded, a little impatiently she thought. He answered in deep, antiquated tones; "aye, that I was, Aes Sedai, when last I wore flesh…" he scowled slightly, "leastwise, Willim of Maneches I be'est up until the tree-branch didst land upon me!" He lowered his voice, grumbling, as much to himself as to her; "in summertime I didst always have a yen to sit beneath the old oak at the end of the garden whilst I didst scribe my essays…" his small, dark eyes nestling beneath the bushy white brows twinkled as he gazed up at her, raising a knobbly finger, "yet in the end, that accursed rotten tree, it didst prove my sharpest critic!"

Renn was gaping at him. "You're one of my favourite writers!" she gushed.

Willim of Maneches frowned. "_One_ of? And why not _the_ favourite, pray tell?"

"Well, in terms of philosophy that isn't too _dry_, that has some humour and humanity to it… I suppose it is a choice between you and Pelateos…"

"_Pelateos the Ponderer?_ Nay!" Willim of Maneches seemed put-out. "Verily? _That_ dullard?"

"I _heardest_ that!" snapped one of the other Sages sternly. Tall and skinny, he had an odd garment wrapped about his bony frame, like a long length of white cloth, held in place by a large, onyx broach pinned at his shoulder, which was bare, along with the rest of the arm. His face was gaunt, his upper lip shaved, though a long, carefully-groomed beard extended some way out from his chin. His eyes were very blue, and were rather coldly fixed upon Willim of Maneches, Renn thought. He dismissed Willim with a snort. It was clear who he was also, she had once seen a mosaic of him… this was extraordinary!

Pelateos turned toward Renn. "I thankest thee for the compliment, Aes Sedai," he murmured, his vulgar speech oddly-accented, "though am unsure if 'tis _complimentary_ to be mentioned in the same sentence as one Willim of…" he blinked, turned toward Willim of Maneches, "excuseth me, scrivener, where didst thou sayest thou were from? A small, dirty place, I believe, that no-one hast ever heard of..?"

Willim of Maneches glowered at Pelateos, having to tilt his neck back somewhat to do so. "_Maneches!_ I didst always be _proud_ of my village," he snapped, "for all that it were but a simple place and _not_-"

"The noble _Collam_ of Dalsande, jewel of Essenian learning?" Pelateos smiled smugly and touched the brooch, carved with laurel-leaves, that sat on his breast.

"Bah! _Dalsande!_ A bunch of lack-witted old fools shuffling about wrapped in sheets! The Trollocs didst well to burn the place!"

"How dare thee! Taketh that back, varlet!"

"I dost not! Spake you disparagingly of my birth-village, where I didst be raised and didst learn my letters!"

"_Thou_ callest me 'dullard' thou mannerless swineherd!"

Renn stared. Were they going to _fight?_ _Men!_

"Effete ponderer!"

"Apple-gathering rustic!"

"Please don't argue!" Renn wailed, "you are my two favourite scholars! Why can't you just be friends?"

"_Friends?_" Pelateos snapped, "any scholar who dost not feel _contempt_ for all other scholars has no _right_ to call himself a scholar!"

"True!" shouted Willim of Maneches, then blinked uncertainly, realising that he had just _agreed_ with Pelateos the Ponderer…

Pelateos frowned. "E'en so, the oer'riding question remaineth – of we two, which _preferest _thou, Aes Sedai?"

"Aye! 'Tis _me_ is it not?" demanded Willim of Maneches.

"Be not so absurd, bumpkin, the Aes Sedai is clearly a student of _taste_."

"Then she most certainly durst not choose _thee_, Ponderer!"

Renn could not help but think that she had been put on something of a spot, and was beginning to regret having approached the Sages in the first place – she was not the accursed Hornsounder, Shrina was! She should not have to answer such difficult questions, Shrina should. Not that Shrina had likely ever read so much as a _page_ by either of them! When it came to literature, if it didn't contain handsome-yet-unmarried men and a healthy amount of 'romance' with same, then the girl wasn't remotely interested! _Shrina!_

Fortunately, the return of Derwuaad occasioned Renn with the opportunity to smile apologetically at the two impatient Sages, whisper (in rather cowardly fashion, she was later ashamed to recall) "I think that you're both every bit as good as each other!" and flee back to Shrina's side. Phew!

Derwuaad was addressing Shrina;

"Your friend Ellythia Desiama of the Blue Ajah may be found at Bear Rock, a week's sail north of your current location, Hornsounder."

"Oh… well, thank you, Derwuaad. Bear Rock?"

"The rock lies at the end of the mountain range known in your time as The End of the World."

"World's End!" exclaimed Shrina.

Renn was curious. "How do you know this, Derwuaad?" she enquired.

Derwuaad gestured at the wall of white mist that surrounded them and an image appeared upon it… a wide-shouldered, youngish fellow, well-muscled and with large, blue eyes, hair that was pure white also, standing on lush, green grass, looking rather confused… there was an odd blue tattoo on his chest… and he was not wearing anything at all! Shrina and Renn stared.

"Goodness," exclaimed Renn, after a while.

"Quite," agreed Shrina.

The naked man with the odd eyes seemed to be arguing about something, though they could not hear his voice. His teeth flashed whitely as he spoke, and seemed to be somewhat sharper than they ought.

"Why isn't he wearing anything?" enquired Renn.

Derwuaad shrugged his bony shoulders. "I fear that we didst drag him from the middle of a dream… though more of a nightmare in truth, one where he wearest another form and chaseth… well, that is not the issue, Hornsounder, but 'tis he who visits the Dream and none other, and 'tis he who is with your friend in the Waking World."

"He must be that Age of Legends man that Ellyth went to find…" Renn whispered.

"I thought you said that it was some kind of a weapon she sought?"

"_Both_, I think…"

A little to their disappointment, the image in the fog disappeared.

"Is there anything else of use that you can tell us?" Shrina demanded. Renn winced. How she wished the dratted girl would enquire politely – these were the greatest minds of the Ages yet she addressed them as though they were a collection of grocers who had been caught selling short-weight! "Well, Sages? Anything we should know?"

Ghoetam tapped a finger consideringly against his smiling lips. "Voice-of-the-Sun," he called, in his sing-song voice, "would you come forward?"

He was the tallest of the Sages, and – though it took some doing – _definitely_ the most strangely-dressed! He wore a bright orange robe and spiked yellow mantle, the upper half of his face obscured by a large golden mask in the shape of a fiery sun, curvilinear rays radiating out from it, his jaw and chin painted gold to match.

Also, he spoke with a pronounced lisp…

"Greetingth, Thervanth of the Hall, I am thomething of an Oracle."

Shrina eyed Renn, forming the word 'oracle?' with her full lips. Renn shrugged. Shrina sighed. "What can you tell us?" she asked.

"Well," lisped Voice-of-the-Sun, "I thupothe there ith only one way to find out!" At which his eyes rolled-up into his head, his whole frame seeming to shiver. He took a deep, shuddering breath, then another… and _spoke_, in a completely different voice. An oddly golden voice, strangely beautiful, seeming to sing as much as to speak. It was also, unmistakeably, the voice of someone who was not quite… _sane!_

"_I am the Sun the Sun am I_."

Ghoetam clapped his hands together. "Greetings, Majestic! Your humble Voice asked me to impart to you this… he wondered if you might have words, words for these two Aes Sedai, who seek your wisdom."

"_They must go north they north must go_."

Shrina scowled. "We already knew that! We are going to this Bear Rock!"

"_A Servant of All of All a Servant_."

Renn blinked. Shrina glanced at her. "This is _weird!_" she muttered. Renn sighed. And Voice-of-the-Sun turned toward her, extending a hand, equally covered in gold paint as what little of his face could be seen beyond the mask.

"_The arrow points down points down the arrow_."

Renn's mouth fell open, then snapped shut. She frowned. "Which arrow?"

The hand fell to his side and Voice-of-the-Sun's eyes rolled back down, dark orbs blinking.

"What did you mean by that? Pointing down where?"

Voice-of-the-Sun resumed focus, noticed Renn. The ornate mask moved from side to side as he shook his head apologetically. "Thorry, the Thun hath _gone_, it ith jutht me again."

Shrina put her hands on her hips. "Well _thank-you_, Ghoetam, that was _extremely_ informative!" Ghoetam's smile widened a little.

"_Shrina!_" snapped Renn, "it _might_ turn out to be helpful… whatever it meant…" She turned to Ghoetam, restraining herself from curtsying just but bobbing a little all the same – well, he _was_ the bloody Founder of Enlightened Thought, for the Light's sake! "Forgive us our seeming ingratitude, Enlightened One, I am sure that-"

"Oh, stop sucking-up to Ghoetam, Renn! He doesn't care!"

"It is true that I do not, Honoured Companion of the Hornsounder, for removal of one's cares from the corporeal is but the first step on the path to enlighten-"

"Oh shove your stocking in it, Ghoetam, there isn't time, we have to find a ship and then go rescue Ellyth…" Shrina blushed. "Sorry! It's just that I'm worried about her and…"

"That is quite understandable, Hornsounder. A blessing on those who aid their friends in times of difficulty."

"Thanks for the advice! Except for that last part, which was silly. Oh, and I've found a nice gold box to keep your Horn in, so it shouldn't get wet on the voyage!"

Ghoetam smiled. "That is well to know."

* * *

"So," said Shrina, breaking the silence as the plates were pushed away from their places, "we are going to need a ship."

Jabal raised his head eagerly. He was only too glad to continue his journey by means of the waves, though the Twins looked disgruntled at the prospect of leaving their beloved horses behind. Thaeus was still picking aimlessly at his fish, a slight smile creasing his lips, he did not appear to be aware of the rest of them. Renn was industriously scribbling something in her notebook… which left grandpa.

Master Tolamani grunted. "The Seanchan devils stole our larger craft but there is the _Little Watcher_, he is small but fast."

The oak-panelled dining hall contained a long table about which they were all sat. Coals glowed faintly in the fireplace at one end of the room, doing little in the way of dispelling the chill atmosphere. Shrina shivered. It always seemed to be cold, up in the Towers. And a deal colder at night, without the Twins on either side of her! But grandpa did not approve of their sharing a bedroom in their unmarried state, so that was that.

"Can we leave tomorrow?"

"We can, on the dawn tide, she is fully provisioned. I was thinking of taking the _cuendillar_ down to Tanchico, but will sail north with you instead."

"You're not coming too, grampy!"

"Why-ever not?"

"You're too-"

"Aes Sedai or no, if you say 'old' then it is spanking time!" Grandpa thumped a gnarled fist on the tabletop, making the plates jump. The Twins eyed him narrowly.

"I wasn't going to say _that_, I just thought that you must be busy with… with other things…"

"I am not. Come, little vixen, let us go to the map room."

Shrina gestured at her boys to stay behind as she rose and followed her grandfather from the hall. Renn did not seem to be interested in coming.

The map room was an adjunct to the gloomy library where the Watchers stored their books of prophecy, a cramped and dusty space, the walls lined with atlases and scrolls. A square table took up the centre of the room, upon which Master Tolamani spread out a large scroll, holding the edges down with lead weights in the shape of eyes emblazoned over waves. Shrina gazed down at the western coast that faced out onto the Aryth Ocean, ignoring the colourful sea-serpents and focusing instead on the coast-line marked in age-darkened inks, following her grandfather's finger as it traced its way up past Bandar Eban, to…

"World's End," grunted grandpa, "a bad place. Your friend was a fool to go there."

"Yes, well, that is something I shall take up with her when we meet." Shrina didn't say '_if_ we meet' and tried not to think it. According to Renn there were Fades and Trollocs and Darkfriends hunting Ellyth, and who knew what else. No, they _would_ get there in time, and if Ellyth tried to call her down for going off Horn-Hunting without her, then she would get a piece of her mind concerning her own fool-hardy quest! Grandpa's finger tapped on a portion of the map that seemed to be more sea than land, right at the tip of the mountains.

"There. Bear Rock. It is the last great peak of World's End, though there are plenty of submerged rocks around-abouts, we shall have to be cautious. Only it is not like the other peaks, it is as though the point had been sheered off – the top is perfectly flat, like a table. I saw it once, long ago."

"Why is it called that, grampy? Shouldn't it at least be shaped like a bear?"

"_I_ do not know, little vixen! I do not make these things up. It has always been called Bear Rock… it will always be called Bear Rock… why do you bother me with this?"

Shrina tapped a finger against her full lips, musing; "perhaps there is a rock somewhere shaped like a bear, only it is called Table Rock?"

Grandpa sighed. "Perhaps…"

* * *

Jabal was scowling at the small sailing-craft, Renn noted.

"What's wrong? Isn't it… sea-worthy?" She _thought _that was the right term.

"He has good lines and a well-steeped mast," Jabal grudgingly admitted, but then pointed accusingly at the wheel. "But where is the tiller? They have a pulley system for steering… these Wave-watchers have been stealing our secrets!"

"Oh _honestly!_" Jabal was so… _paranoid_, when it came to these sorts of things! Renn's voice echoed from above. They were in a small harbour that had been hacked out of the cliffs below the Watcher's Towers. The ship tied to the dock had a black hull and black sails, an eye painted on each side of the bow. Renn's brow furrowed. A black ship… what did that make her think of? Well, no matter, it would come back to her… she turned her head at the sound of footsteps. Shrina was coming, along with Thaeus and her rather objectionable old grandfather. The Twins laboured along behind, the large gold chest that contained the Horn of T'oph slung between them. It was dawn and a southerly wind was blowing. Time for them to go.

"Hold on Ellyth, we're coming for you!"

* * *

**Part III : The Storm**

Red-eyed Cohradin of the _Sovin Nai _groaned softly, trying not to think about all that _water_ that was just on the other side of the thin wooden planks to which his back was pressed. He sat, wedged in a line with the other Shaido, feeling the boat-thing rise, rise up to the top of one of those enormous waves… and then down, down into its trough again. The storm had been going on for some time, for what seemed an eternity, and he was not sure how much more of this he could bear. Part of him wished that they would just sink and get it over with… what would it be like to drown? Not pleasant, and no proper death for an _algai'd'siswai_, that was for certain. The Dance of the Spears was the only correct way to be waked from the dream.

"Are you well, Cohradin?" asked the Nightwatcher. He was sitting cross-legged, just opposite. Eating an apple. How could he _eat_ at a time like this? "Look a bit sickly, do you."

Cohradin summoned the strength to shake his head. "I am _fine_," he said, between gritted teeth.

"Oh. Good." The Nightwatcher tossed the apple core over his shoulder, dusting his gloved hands, eyeing the Shaido curiously. "You do not find the motion of the waves to your taste?"

"We have resigned ourselves to death, _Vron'cor_," said Chassin, morbidly.

"Come now! This craft is seaworthy, we will ride out the storm, you will see." The Nightwatcher grinned. "Though if you notice the rats going up on deck and throwing themselves over the side, you will know I was wrong!" He paused, sniffing. "_In fact_…"

The Nightwatcher rose and went swiftly over to the dark corner of the hold, beyond where the light of the swinging lantern reached. There was a crunching sound and a muted squeak. He returned, holding a large, black rat by the tail, examining its limp carcase with satisfaction. "Nasty thing," he muttered, "probably spying for the Shadow, it was…"

A pounding sounded on the deck above their heads. The Nightwatcher glanced upwards and sighed.

"Oh, seems Aes Sedai require _Sin'aethan Shadar Cor_ again… will see you later, Shaido." The open hatch let in a blast of damp air rich with salt and then the Nightwatcher was gone. Cohradin had long since ceased taking small comfort in the fact that the cramped wooden space into which they were crammed was called a 'hold.' It was not like an Aiel Hold. Not at all. The ship began its inexorable rise up the side of another enormous wave. Cohradin groaned again.

* * *

The weather was horrible; pounding waves, sheering squalls, lashing rain, the small sail-craft rising and pitching in the heavy swell… and Jabal Gaidin was having a wonderful time! Even if these salt-kissing Wave-watchers _did_ have a suspiciously _Atha'an Miere_-like wheel and pulley system to move their rudders. The wheel itself was currently shaking and juddering beneath his tattooed hands, transmitting the power of the ocean through the rudder and ropes and pulley, directly into Jabal's body. For the first time in a long time he felt at home again, in his element.

"Two points east, steersman," snapped the Sailmaster.

"Yes, Sailmaster," responded Jabal crisply, spinning the wheel slightly.

For the hundredth time since Falme, Jabal gave silent thanks to the Creator for unexpectedly giving him the opportunity to do this sort of thing again. This was not mere river-cruising, this was salt-sailing at its finest. He had not enjoyed himself so much since that last night in Falme, when they found the big bath and the boiler in one of those rooms in the Watcher's Towers. There had been no opportunity to get close and snuggle with Renn since.

The wheel twitched, like all eight of the seas clasping hands with Jabal, welcoming him home. But more importantly, transmitting the feel of the ocean, and what it might do next… he spun the wheel a few spokes to the right. There was a big wave coming, and he angled the craft to meet it head-on.

The Sailmaster, the old Watcher who Shrina Sedai called 'grandpa' but every one else called 'Master Tolamani,' watched Jabal for a while with dark eyes that had watched for the return of the Hawkwing, watching the way he steered, then nodded.

"Steady as she goes, steersman." He turned to go.

"You leave the quarterdeck, Sailmaster?" Jabal was not worried, just surprised.

The Sailmaster turned back. "I assume it is safe to leave my ship in the hands of a Takana?"

Jabal blinked. Master Tolamani knew what the Clan sigil on his hand meant… that was odd. How did the old Watcher know?

"And a din Sudim Takana at that, by the looks of it…" the Sailmaster added, "I hear the din Sudims are good people."

He could read his family signs too! Very odd.

"Oh, they _are _good people," Jabal agreed hastily, "I mean we are, the din Sudim Takana, that is…" – Jabal grinned, Renn had not believed the size of the family she was marrying-into when he had told her, her mouth had dropped open – "… all good people – all three hundred of us!"

And of course, Jabal knew _everybody's_ name, just as they knew his… family was important to the Sea Folk. Though he had not been back amongst his family for a while, he might have missed a few new arrivals (there were _always _new arrivals!) but when in Tar Valon, he could always rely on Aunty-Ny to come up to him in the Library and proudly give him news garnered from the many letters she received from their mutual, scattered, enormous family… carefully collated and cross-referenced details of all of the latest little din Sudims who had most recently been held up, slapped on the bottom, and placed at their tired mother's breast.

Jabal always nodded gravely, listening to the ancient Sea Folk Aes Sedai attentively as she excitedly gave him important details such as whether a boy or a girl, how much they had weighed in the Cargo Master's scales, what colour their hair was, what the weather had been doing when they were birthed... din Sudim babies were always born on the salt, naturally, and the state of the salt at the time of their birth was considered to be indicative of their later life. Raab (once but no longer a din Sudim) Jabal's out-cast cousin who he had attempted to kill, had been born during the most violent storm anyone could remember – they had always known that boy would be trouble!

Jabal had not been that interested in details such as whether one of his many cousin's latest babes had a single tooth when she was born during a flat calm, but he loved his aunt so had perhaps pretended more interest than he felt… while wondering if Renn would dislike Aunty-Ny quite so much if she knew what an obsessive collector of din Sudim baby-details the old _Atha'an Miere _Sister was? She had never seen any of these newborns and probably never would, but Nyein din Sudim considered it important to know these things. It was quite endearing, really!

At the thought of a Sea Folk-sized family, Master Tolamani laughed, a short, harsh, barking sound. "Just raising _one_ grand-daughter was a nightmare for me!" he confessed as he turned away, chuckling, stumping down to the deck. He kept a firm grip on the life-line that had been strung fore-and-aft, ignoring the sea-water washing about amidships. He shouted over his shoulder above the noise of the storm;

"I am going to the head, then I am going to get a bite to eat, then I will be back with a mug of rum and a biscuit for _you_, steersman. Try not to sink my ship in the meantime, din Sudim Takana _Atha'an Miere_, or I'll hang you in the rigging by your heels while we go down to the bottom!"

Jabal watched the Sailmaster go, frowning with bemusement. He certainly seemed to know things about the Sea Folk that the Shorebound did not usually. The old man was a little peculiar, but then – though Jabal had always liked Shrina very much in spite of this – so was his granddaughter!

And so was Ellythia Sedai's new Warder, for that matter. Jabal watched as the hatch behind the mast opened long enough to emit the strange fellow who had replaced Atual Gaidin. He sighed, missing his friend. He had poured some wine into the sea and said a blessing in remembrance for his fellow Warder as was only right and proper, but it would take time to fully accustom himself to the sense of loss. Naythan Gaidin turned his large, blue eyes up toward the quarterdeck, raising a gloved hand in greeting, then went below to the cabin. He did not bother with the life-lines, did not seem to find the up-and-down motion of the waves or the seawater washing around his booted feet to be a hindrance.

Jabal eyed the clouds in the evening sky above. He was not weather-wise like a Windfinder, but he knew enough to know that it would get worse before it got better.

* * *

"Honestly, Ellyth! I cannot believe that you could not at least communicate with the Age of Legends man… with your new Warder… you bring the White Tower into disrepute, you and Shrina both! Aes Sedai who cannot even converse at the most basic level in the Old Tongue…"

"Hush, Renn! I told you that in Amadicia, daughters of the nobility are not taught the Old-"

"Neither are the daughters of Tar Valon Innkeepers, but I did not let that stop me from at least _learning_ it!"

"Bookworm!"

"Whitecloak!"

"Oh shut-up, both of you! I'm sick to death of the two of you bickering, any more and I shall go up on deck and leave you to it."

"If the deck is even still there!"

"I cannot see what your problem is, it is only a little rough weather."

"And you are supposed to be an expert when it comes to the weather, yes? And yet you did not see this horrendous storm coming!"

"Well, it came out of nowhere… and you are still looking rather green, Ellythia-dear, would you like me to fetch your bucket?"

"Hornhunter!"

"Hah! You can't call me that anymore, Whitecloak, since I am _no longer_ hunting for the bloody thing!"

"No, Shrina, you are hunting for the _Hornsneaker_ instead, now! _Honestly!_"

"Who asked you to stick your oar in, Bookworm?"

"Hornsounder!"

"Aah! I _told_ you not to call me that, Renn!"

N'aethan knocked on the door, but he did not think that the Aes Sedai heard him as they were shouting at each other too loudly, so he went in anyway. The angry female noises stopped immediately and three pairs of eyes regarded him frostily. They were sitting wedged in a row on the bunk; there were three Aes Sedai, a blonde, a brunette and a redhead… it sounded like the beginning of one of Father's bad jokes!

N'aethan did his best bow, balancing easily on the swaying deck, avoiding hitting his head on the swinging lantern. "Aes Sedai," he intoned, "as you summoned me, so I am come."

"I have been pounding on the accursed floor or deck or whatever it is for some time, Naythan Gaidin!" Ellythia Sedai did not look at all well.

"Forgiveness, Mistress, at first I thought it was especially large rat making the noise, did not realise…"

"Especially… large…" Ellyth frowned, began to say something, but gulped and attempted to hold down her gorge instead as a particularly huge wave tipped the ship high into the air, before it swept down into a deep trough. She moaned.

"Require bucket again, Mistress?"

"No…"

"You are sure? You look almost as sick as the Shaido!"

"No bucket! I wished to know if there is any sign of this weather abating."

"Afraid not, Mistress. Shrinalla Sedai's great-father informed me that we are still being driven north by the winds."

N'aethan noted that Shrinalla Sedai was looking at Ellythia Sedai with concern, and chafing her wrists, whilst on the other side, Rennetta Sedai was staring at him in that avid way again. And they were both every bit as young and weak in the Power as _his_ Aes Sedai! Things had become very strange… though as confusing as he often found Ellythia Sedai to be, even having only known them for a few days, he had come to the opinion that these two odd friends of hers, her Sisters… well, they were even more confusing. Rennetta Sedai had that look on her face that told him she was going to start speaking the High at him again... the Old Tongue, she called it. She spoke it fairly well, a rather dusty old dialect at least, but had absolutely no idea about inflections…

"_Hast thou considered further on my interlocution concerning ye origins of thy Age, good Brother of Battles?_" Rennetta Sedai wanted to know, at some length.

N'aethan sighed, and replied in the Low, the vulgar language, hoping that she would take the hint and stop addressing him in this ridiculous manner – it made her sound like a particularly pompous advocate of law!

"Would be happy to answer more of your questions, Aes Sedai, but keep telling you, know little of this Age of Legends… was not even born in the Light then… by the time _Sin'aethan Shadar Cor _left the _Collam_ _Aman_, nearly everything which you ask about had all been destroyed."

"_Nay! Twas all vanished? Forsooth!_"

She seemed nice enough, this Rennetta Sedai, but he wished she would stop with the Old Tongue directed at the 'Age of Legends man,' not to mention the incessant questions about things he had never heard of. Her appetite for what she called 'lost knowledge' was insatiable!

Ellythia Sedai was eyeing him suspiciously. "What is that you are holding behind your back?"

N'aethan grinned and proudly held up the large, dead rat by its tail. The reaction of the young Aes Sedai was not voiced in terms of approval;

"Eurgh! It's crawling with fleas!"

"Oh, the poor thing! Did you have to kill him?"

"Why are you bringing us a _dead rat_, Naythan Gaidin?" Ellythia demanded, clutching at her stomach.

"Found it down in the hold, Mistress. Sneaking around, spying for the Shadow, doubtless… brought it to show to you!"

"But _why?_"

"So you could see that _Sin'aethan Shadar Cor _had killed it… that had done my duty." N'aethan shrugged, took a step that brought him to the porthole, which he opened briefly – water and wind howling in – and tossed the dead rat into the turgid seas. He dusted his gloves with the air of a job well done.

* * *

The Twins were teaching Thaeus the words of a sea-shanty that the foolish Gleeman had taught them, more for something to do than because they approved of the refrain, _or_ its writer. The recessed bunks they lay in were arranged to either side of the forecastle cabin, one atop the other. Aebel was in the top bunk on the starboard side, Blaek in the bottom, while Thaeus was over to port. The lantern swinging above cast a fitful gleam over the tiny, cramped cabin. They lay on straw pallets, arms crossed behind their heads.

"…we'd best start singing our praise to the Light!" the Twins sang together, finishing the first verse rowdily.

Then Aebel sang; "so lift up your voices, each man makes his choices, betwixt the Dark and the Light…"

Then Blaek sang; "…and strike up the chorus, may _Shai'tan_ ignore us, oh sailor sing praise to the Light!"

Thaeus had been tapping his foot in time with the tune but at this he raised a note of caution. "It is a bad idea to name the Dark One, yes?"

The Twins shrugged, at the same time.

"That is what we told the foolish-"

"-Gleeman when he taught us the song."

Thaeus grinned. "This Blucha fellow sounds familiar, I once met a gleeman posing as a bard in Lord Montoyne's manor-house who answers the description. He was later caught en flagrante with Gilles' betrothed and barely escaped with his life!"

"That certainly sounds like him," agreed the Twins.

"Even so, you should not name the-"

The cabin door burst open. It was Master Tolamani. "All hands on deck!"

* * *

Ellyth's sore stomach had not been improved by the sight of the dead rat and even though she had nothing left to be sick with, she was just contemplating a few dry heaves when abruptly Naythan cocked his head to one side, looking alarmed.

"What is it? What is the matter?"

"Trouble, Mistress… the mainsail has split!"

Naythan was gone in a flash, the cabin door swinging shut behind him, and the three young Aes Sedai struggled to their feet, helping each other up.

Shrina took command. "Without canvas we won't be able to sail before the wind, we'll capsize," she shouted, "come on!"

They made their way up onto the deck, gripping the life-lines, the wind whipping their gowns about them. Above, the black sail flapped impotently, torn down the middle and hanging in shreds. Shrina's grandfather was herding Thaeus and the Twins out onto the deck forward and Naythan was already halfway up the mast, his gholam-killing knife gripped in his teeth. Ellyth watched as he cut the useless tatters of sail away from the yardarm. The ship rose on an enormous wave, wind howling athwart the bare mast, and began to turn side-on, despite Jabal spinning the wheel hard over. The next wave would surely finish them…

"Link with me!" Shrina yelled, dragging Ellyth and Renn towards the mast. They stood with their backs to it in a triangle, gripping each other's hands and Ellyth opened herself to the Source, feeling Shrina snatch control away from her.

"What are you going to do?" she cried out.

"Something complicated! I only hope it works…"

Then abruptly, the noise of the wind died and the rain ceased to lash down. It was an eerie feeling, the storm was still there, outside, but they seemed to be in an oasis of calm in the midst of it. The ship rose on the next wave, side-on, surely they would be dashed down into the trough and sink? But they were not. The ship tipped at an alarming angle, but somehow they remained afloat and began to rise up the side of the next wave.

"What did you do, Shrina?" Renn wanted to know.

"I've weaved a big bubble of Air around us but I don't know how long it will hold," said Shrina, sounding strained. Her grandfather nodded approvingly.

"Oilfishers, there's spare storm-canvas in the aft locker, break it out!" Master Tolamani bellowed. Bending the new sail to the yardarm took some time, with Naythan aloft doing most of the work, but it was accomplished before their strength gave out. The new sail belled in the wind and the ship gained headway again.

Ellyth and her friends struggled back to the cabin, feeling more than a little over-exerted. Shrina paused in the doorway, gazing darkly up at the sky. "This is no natural storm," she muttered, not for the first time, "I have attempted to quell the winds but there is something powerful working against me. It must be the work of that hag… the granny from the Blight!"

Ellyth smiled coldly. Shrina always called the Kirikil woman that. As they returned to their perch on the bunk – wedged in together, hip to hip, was the best way to avoid tumbling about over the pitching deck – she thought about the first time they had met with the hag… no, that was too painful to think of, though she recalled the aftermath clearly…

_ Moiraine Sedai gazed down at the two groaning young Aes Sedai with cool dispassion, though there was a note of pity and commiseration when she spoke, her voice seeming to chime delicately, if with bells fashioned of ice. "You foolish girls will require Healing," she observed. And then, without bothering to ask, she gave it. Ellyth was the more badly singed of the two, so received Moiraine's attentions first. _

_ "Ahh!" Sniffling and scrubbing the tears from her eyes, Ellyth rolled onto her side, the shock of the Healing weaves still making her tremble, and watched as Moiraine Sedai knelt beside Shrina and performed the same service. Behind, Atual and Moiraine's Warder, Lord Mandragoran, hovered with blades bared and watched their respective Aes Sedai with concern for a moment, before their cold eyes returned to scanning their surroundings for danger. _

_ "So she's your new Sister then, Longhair?" Ellyth heard Lan Gaidin growl softly._

_ "Aye, Stoneface, that she is," Atual responded, his grey eyed gaze fixed on Ellyth briefly, a note of pride in his voice. "She could stand a little seasoning," he added, after a moment. Ellyth frowned. _

_ "No matter… she did well enough, as did the young Green. They are still alive, after all…" Lan slapped Atual roughly on the shoulder, his harsh features seeming to relax into a smile for an instant though perhaps it was a trick of the light. "Welcome to the Blue Ajah! You were always wasted serving the Yellows… and your life just got more dangerous." _

"_I don't need you to tell me _that_." _

_ Moiraine removed her healing hands from Shrina's temples and glanced over her shoulder at the Warders. "Cease chattering, Gaidin!" she snapped. _

_ Shrina gasped and her eyes fluttered open. She sat up, so Ellyth forced herself to do likewise, much as she felt like curling into a ball and lying quiescent for a time longer… she noted with annoyance that Shrina's green woollen gown was a tad less torn, scorched and besmirched with blood than the ragged remnants of her own pale blue silken dress … she plucked glumly at the shredded silk about her legs – her new stockings were ruined! – and sighed. _

_ "Tell me… Ellythia and Shinalla, is it not? Tell me, how long has it been since you won the Shawl?" Moiraine Sedai, having chastened the whispering Warders, was kneeling back on her slippered heels, careless of the mud staining the hem of her azure silken robe, regarding them both with dark, knowing eyes. A small smile seemed to be hovering on her lips…_

_ Shrina frowned. "It is _Shrinalla_, Moiraine…" Those dark, delicate brows drew down a little as Moiraine Damodred, Aes Sedai, turned her full attention on the dusky, red-headed girl to the right. "Moiraine Sedai, that is… let me see, it has been three..?"_

_ "_Four_ months," Ellyth stated definitively. That cool gaze turned to the pale, chestnut-locked girl on the left. "Moiraine Sedai," Ellyth qualified, a little breathlessly. "Thank you for Healing us," she added, with unusual meekness. _

_ "Yes, thanks for that," Shrina added, stretching her spine and groaning, "I feel like a three-day-old steelfin that's been gutted _and_ smoked! Watcher's Oath!" She glanced around warily. "That old bag isn't still loitering around the place, is she?"_

_ Moiraine Sedai shook her head firmly, then tucked the statuette of age-darkened ivory back into her belt pouch, after carefully wrapping it in a square of silk. Ellyth regarded it hungrily and noticed that there was a note of envy in Shrina's voice as she muttered; "a powerful angreal, that…" _

"_Yes," Ellyth murmured, "Lelaine Sedai was complaining of its absence from the Blue Ajah hold…"_

_ "I am sure that she was. Lelaine is excellent at complaining, and as for the…" Moiraine Sedai glanced at Shrina, lips twitching slightly, "…old bag… well, she evidently found _my_ angreal to be somewhat daunting herself, though that device she utilised, a tube that cast flame, daunted me somewhat also." Moiraine shrugged. Her own gown was looking a tad singed, Ellyth could not help but note. "Well, no matter, she has been dispersed." _

_Ellyth scowled. "Vile old hag! One of those who has been to Shayol Ghul, doubtless, Verin Sedai warned us of her…" _

_Moiraine Sedai frowned. "And what in the Wheel did you two silly girls imagine that you were doing confronting one such as she? Pick your fights with care, kittens! Try a mouse or two before attempting to scratch a bitch!"_

_Shrina scowled darkly, Ellyth noted, whilst she was scowling darkly herself. _

_ "We did not _know_ that there would be a Darkfriend Wilder waiting for us in that tower, yes?" Ellyth smoothed her brow a little. "Moiraine Sedai," she added belatedly, lowering her dark eyes from that regal and rather unnerving gaze, smoothing the shreds of her torn and charred skirts with a disconsolate frown. "The hag has ruined my new gown…" Shrina was still scowling and Ellyth could guess why. _Kittens?!

_ "A shame. You should wear stout woollens when you go about your ter'angreal hunting, as does your Horn-seeking friend there, though it has availed her little in this event… Is that one of Mistress Alkohima's? No, the stitching is too sloppy, though I recognise the style… sewn by one of her younger girls, I would presume." Ellyth resumed her scowl. Shrina was still scowling, Moiraine Sedai did not seem to notice – or care – and rose with smooth grace, brushing some dead leaves from her skirts. "Come. We should leave this benighted place. I doubt that Mistress Kirikil shall return – not after what I did! – but there may be further Draghkar lurking about, which shall only worsen my head-ache should they resume their vile singing… Lan?"_

_ Lord Mandragoran sheathed his blade and took a pace forward, towering over his Aes Sedai and settling a pale cloak carefully over her shoulders. Atual put up his sword and went to solicitously help Ellyth to rise. Shrina sighed as she scrambled to her feet under her own impetus. She clearly wished that she had a Warder or three, to look after her! _

_ "Yes Moiraine?"_

_ "Is there an inn nearby?" Moiraine Sedai looked up at the deserted, crumbling watchtower looming out of the dark forest, a gnarled yew twisting though the broken stones of its foundations, and shivered slightly. "Is there _anything_ nearby, for that matter?" _

_Lan Gaidin shook his head. "No-one has lived in these parts since the Hawkwing's day… although…" he glanced at Atual. "In the mood for music, Longhair?"_

_Atual grinned. "Aye, Stoneface, I saw the wagon tracks too… perhaps we'll see some dancing also, to go along with a good hot meal?"_

"_Indeed, there's nothing like a tiganza to warm the blood!" _

A peremptory knock on the cabin door and Master Tolamani came in, followed by Naythan. The gnarled old Watcher took a seat on a locker while Naythan balanced easily on the pitching deck, looking somewhat damp and bedraggled, but pleased with himself for all that.

"We are underway, Master Tolamani?" enquired Ellyth. She shivered. She had used weaves of Air to squeeze the water from her gown, but still felt cold and damp.

"Aye, Aes Sedai," responded Shrina's grandfather, "we're under a bare scrap of canvas and the sprit-sail, we've no choice but to run before the southerly gale."

"Thought I saw something Mistress," added Naythan, "just a glimpse when I was aloft… looked like another ship, it did."

Master Tolamani looked put-out. "Why didn't you tell me that?"

"Telling you now, am I not? It was a big ship, three masts with ribbed sails, running before the wind as are we…"

Master Tolamani rose from the locker, opened it and began to rummage inside, grumbling to himself. Naythan shrugged and regarded the three young Aes Sedai with bemusement. "No natural storm, this is," he muttered.

Shrina eyed him. "How do you know that?"

"It does not feel right. Jabal Gaidin says it will get worse and I concur. We are in for a hard night."

Master Tolamani rose, holding a sextant. "The stars are out, I'll try to get a reading." He disappeared through the cabin-door, letting in a blast of salt air as he did so. Ellyth embraced the source and cast a weave of Air, not at Naythan himself, but rather at his clothes. Seawater oozed out and puddled on the deck about his boots.

"Thank you Mistress," he murmured, removing his headband and shaking his head, a little like a dog. Shrina and Renn stared. Ellyth realised that they were looking at his ears. Naythan noticed, and touched one of the blunt points decorated with a tuft of hair self-consciously. "You did not tell them?" he enquired.

"Naythan Gaidin is a little… unusual," Ellyth stated, "he sees in the dark as well as a… as an owl, and has very good hearing. He was made to be a weapon against the Shadow, and has certain… abilities."

Renn's eyes were wide, as were Shrina's.

"I play four instruments also," Naythan added proudly, "and the Mother taught me to sing… perhaps when the Shadow is defeated I could become a Gleeman?"

"Perhaps…"

Naythan smoothed his wet hair back and replaced the band about his brow, before taking a seat on the locker. He eyed Shrina and Renn. "Ask."

"Why doesn't Channelling work on you?" Shrina demanded.

Naythan shrugged. "It was part of Father's Design. So that I could battle Dreadlords, and later, the _souvraniene_, the Madmen…" He grinned, his pointy teeth flashing. "Though I once encountered a Dreadlord who picked up rocks with the Power, and threw them at-"

The door burst open to admit Master Tolamani. "Bad news, little vixen!" he told Shrina, before motioning impatiently for Naythan to get off the locker. He tossed the sextant inside and pulled out a chart, spreading it carelessly on the wet deck. His finger traced a line of latitude east and he shook his head, cursing under his breath.

"We've left the Aryth Ocean behind… now we're upon the Dead Sea."


	2. Chapter 12: On the Shores of the Blight

_I hear there's Islands 'cross the sea_

_(more than enough for even me)_

_so I'll send my armies westerly –_

_there's more land to be conquered!_

**from 'Hawkwing's Lament' by Roth Blucha, Gleeman**

**Chapter 12 * On the Shores of the Blight**

**Part I : Castaway**

Mitsu had been drifting for days. She clung to a hatch-cover – all that remained of the wrecked great ship – and now that the waves had died down, her chief enemy was hunger. The day before she had managed to seize a gull from the air when it came to peck at her eyes, thinking her dead. The raw, rank flesh had sickened her though she had managed to keep it down, but the creature's salty blood only intensified her terrible thirst.

She had been having hallucinations, seeing things that were not there. A giant fish the like of which she had never heard tell had surfaced next to her, blowing water from the hole in the top of its head for a time, making deep puffing noises like a forge-bellows whilst it regarded her with its small eye, before sounding again… or had that been real? She had been hearing things too; laughter and distant shouting, drifting over the waves. She had heard her sister's voice also, saying the sort of things to her that Shima had said when they were children, out in the gardens together; silly jokes and nonsense rhymes.

But no, she had no sister, not anymore. Shima had been picked out at the selection, when Mitsu was only eight and had watched, uncomprehending, as her beloved elder sister was made damane, collared and taken away… she should not even think her name, let alone speak it. Service to the Empress, might she live forever, was all. She must focus on that. That was all there was.

Though the shame of it made her want to die. Well, she would have her wish soon enough, if several days later than the others on her foundered ship, damaged and fleeing from… no, she could not bear to even think of the name of that place, the terrible defeat they had suffered at the hands of the oath-breakers. Or had that been real either? The things she had seen there, it all seemed like a bad dream.

At first, Mitsu thought it was another hallucination, like the enormous fish, but the small ship drifted steadily nearer, resolving itself into a single-masted sail-craft with a black hull, faces lining the rail. A coiled rope was thrown and after debating within herself whether it would not be better to die than be rescued by what she presumed to be more of the oath-breakers, she gripped the end of it, managing to hold on as she was pulled aboard. Arms helped her over the rail and she lay on her back on the deck, blinking her salt-crusted eyes, examining and being examined in turn.

There were three young women kneeling about her, discussing her in their strangely accented voices, and Mitsu noted that they all wore the golden ring, the snake biting its own tail. _Aes Sedai!_ That made the men standing behind them Warders. She had fought one of these men, and had barely survived the encounter. _Marath'damane_ were bad enough, their fearsome Gaidin also, but there, beside them, looking down at her with its demonic eyes – it was a _chami!_ An evil spirit! It could be nothing else, with its mane of white hair and blue beast's eyes, walking upright like a man, and yet not a man! Or was she hallucinating again?

"I'll do it," the _marath'damane_ with the pale spikes of hair was saying in her oddly accented, too-fast speech, "I'm the best at it." The dark-skinned redhead shrugged whilst the brown-haired _marath'damane_ was looking at her with a distracted expression on her pale face.

The blonde _marath'damane_ leant forward to grip Mitsu on either side of her brow. She tried to flinch away but proved too weak.

"Wait!"

The pale _marath'damane_ was speaking excitedly, Mitsu distantly noted.

"That black ring, upon her finger – it is a _ter'angreal!_"

"It is?"

"Well, you would know, Ellyth…"

"It must be removed before the Healing – it might interfere with the weaves, yes?"

"Yes!" the other two muttered, grinning. She frowned at them.

Mitsu shuddered – had she heard aright? They were going to use their vile healing on her, to delve into her body with their filthy one power! She moaned softly.

"The poor girl is in pain – hurry up and take that ring off!"

Mitsu had but one poisoned needle left, tucked between gum and lip. She pretended to cough, seating it in her hand just-so and flicked off the cap with her tongue, leaving the pointed end bare and lethal. She prepared herself… one last service to the Empress – might she live forever – and one less unleashed-one loose to trouble and perhaps break the world again…

The pale _marath'damane_ leaned closer to further examine her ring and Mitsu tensed. She was not certain exactly what happened next, a very fast blur of movement in the corner of her eye, but her wrist was 'prisoned within a powerful, immoveable grip which she could not displace, though she was very good at breaking holds… she had always been the best at hand-fighting in her group. Meanwhile, her ring was being slipped off the finger of her other hand by the _marath'damane_, who had not noticed the intercession of… Mitsu looked up. The _chami_ was there, looming over her – it was real after all! The demon smiled at her with its pointy teeth, a sensation of sudden movement and then her wrist was released. Her hand was empty of the needle now, she must have dropped it…

"Stand aside, Naythan!"

The _chami_ closed one of its strange eyes slowly – it had just winked at her! – and then stood and moved away with smooth and inhuman grace. What other monsters did these _marath'damane_ have at their beck and call? She wished they would just throw her back into the sea… and then, the blonde _marath'damane_ leant forward, laid hands upon her temples, and Mitsu was gripped with a very strange sensation, not unlike being too hot and too cold at the same time. She felt better than she had and when a water bottle was tipped to her lips, she drank thirstily.

But her ring was gone. She had not been without it since the day she had first won the enormous privilege, out of three dozen contenders hand-picked from the Fists of Heaven. Mitsu felt her eyes roll up in her head and then she knew no more.

When Mitsu awoke, she was occupying a narrow bunk in a cramped cabin. She felt weak as a day-old kitten, but the searing pain of her sunburns seemed to be gone – as were the burns themselves, she noted, looking at her arms which she barely had the strength to raise from beneath the blanket that tightly covered her. And she was ravenous.

As if on cue, the door opened and the _chami_ walked in, carrying a steaming bowl of soup. Mitsu flinched back against the wooden bulkhead, watching it, wide-eyed. But there being nowhere to escape to, she was put in the surprising position of having a demon feed her vegetable soup! At one point she had begun to tense the fingers of the hand that lay beneath the covers, wondering if she could manage a hand-strike at its throat… but the _chami_ had noticed the movement and simply set the soup aside for a moment and raised an eyebrow at her. So Mitsu had scowled, and continued to eat the soup, which to be fair, tasted wonderful. When the soup was eaten, the _chami_ laid the empty bowl on the deck and regarded her wordlessly for a moment with its terrifying eyes.

"Do you think you could manage some fish stew?" it asked, speaking with a very strange accent, even in comparison with the other oath-breakers – though she was not sure if a _chami _counted as such… evil spirits did not swear oaths.

Mitsu made no reply, her dark, tilted eyes fixed on the demon… it then pulled something out of its glove. A tiny golden needle, the point stained black.

"I will throw this into the sea," the _chami_ told her, "do you have any more of these?" It watched her, waiting expectantly for an answer.

Mitsu shook her head.

"Try to harm my Aes Sedai again, and I will throw _you_ into the sea also – if you are lucky." For a moment, the _chami's_ face became very grim, its pupils narrowing to slits as it bared its teeth, then it was placidly smiling again, its face a good-humoured mask.

Mitsu was not fooled – Shima had told her about what the _chami_ were like, how they loved to play games with their victims… to toy with them, to hunt them, before they ate them and wore their skins.

"Do you understand?" the _chami_ enquired.

Mitsu nodded. It smiled again, nodded back, then rose and left the cabin with smooth grace, giving her a last warning glance before it closed the door.

* * *

"How is our guest, Naythan?"

N'aethan held up the empty bowl and smiled at Ellythia Sedai, who was turning the black ring she had taken from the cast-away over in her hands.

"She is well, Mistress. Ate her soup, did she."

"I asked you to call me 'Ellyth,' " she stated frostily, before holding up the ring. "This is a _ter'angreal_…"

N'aethan repressed a sigh. He still recalled the kiss, and wondered what it had meant, if anything. Well, his Aes Sedai had thought that she was going to die, back there in Big Brother's Tomb. Things had changed now.

"It is a _ter'angreal_, Hellyth Sedai."

"_Ellyth_, without the 'h!' Do you know what it does, Naythan?"

N'aethan resisted the urge to say that he would pronounce his Aes Sedai's name correctly when she managed to do the same for _his_, instead squinting at the ring.

"I know not, Mistress. It is not a call-ring, though, like the other we found."

The small platinum ring that had been by the skeleton of whatever mysterious intruder had come to Father's place. The one who might have released the _gholam_. Ellythia Sedai took it from her belt pouch, examined both, then tucked them away. N'aethan had a feeling that the cast-away would be unlikely to get her _ter'angreal_ back. He was lucky he had been allowed to keep _his!_

The ship drifted, the sail flapping with the occasional breeze, though not enough to move them. With effort, Shrinalla Sedai had weaved enough Air to carry them over to the floating hatch-cover and its ship-wrecked occupant, but all attempts to summon a northerly wind to send them south again had failed. It was as though the weather had been turned against them and they were, for the time being, becalmed. On the distant, eastern horizon, a grey smudge marked land, but N'aethan did not wish to think of _which_ land. It was the Blight, it had to be. He had been there, many times, and if his fortunes led him to that dread place again he did not begrudge them… but he had no wish for his Aes Sedai to know such danger. She was too weak in the Power, too inexperienced (though he would not dare tell her so) the Blight was no place for her. Or her friends.

N'aethan wondered whether to mention the poisoned needle to Ellythia Sedai, but did not. Instead, he waited until she was not looking and flicked the offending item into the waves. So, they had an assassin aboard… a Friend of the Dark, perhaps? The ring-_ter'angreal_ might be a device of the Shadow. He would find out, and take the appropriate action, though he disliked killing humans. Whoever she was, she was no danger to anyone at the moment, barely strong enough to eat soup unaided…

Ellythia Sedai lowered her voice; "Naythan… we have had no chance to talk, since…" she took a deep breath, flushing a little, began to speak again-

"What are you two whispering about?" It was Shrinalla Sedai. Ellythia Sedai frowned at her but she did not seem to notice, turning to N'aethan. "I see she ate her soup… did you find out who she is? What she's doing up this far north?"

N'aethan resented the interruption a little, but confined himself to saying; "no, Shrinalla Sedai. Wrecked in the same storm that nearly wrecked us, think I."

It had been a close call, the night of the storm, they had lost the sail again at one point and nearly the mast; only having Aes Sedai aboard had saved them from foundering. The weather had blown itself out with the dawn, the massive storm disappearing as suddenly as it had appeared, leaving them becalmed and drifting steadily further off course on the currents. And nearer to land, though there were no welcoming ports this far north. There was only the Blight.

"She was wearing very strange clothing," Shrinalla Sedai mused further.

It was true, before being disrobed and having the salt sponged from her skin, the cast-away had been clad in loose black trews and matching shirt of an unusual, flowing design. Her hair was cropped quite short which along with her dark, narrow eyes and dusky skin gave her an exotic, foreign look, a little like one of the Sea Folk, though her lack of tattoos and ear-rings precluded her from being one of them.

N'aethan shrugged. "She is not from around here, methinks. Perhaps from that ship I saw, the night of the storm."

Ellythia Sedai took Shrinalla Sedai's arm. "We will leave her in the care of Naythan Gaidin, he will satisfy your curiosity I am sure. Not to mention his own." She gave him a wordless glance, then led Shrinalla Sedai up to the quarterdeck. N'aethan sighed and went to return the empty bowl to the galley. It was true that he was curious about the newcomer – he had a curious nature – but a good deal more curious about his Aes Sedai, and what she had been about to say.

One of the Twins was sitting on the edge of the hatchway that led down to the low galley before the mast, running a whetstone slowly along his unsheathed blade, checking carefully for signs of rust. N'aethan allowed himself a momentary complacence that his own sword was immune to both needing to be sharpened and the ravages of damp weather.

"Blaek Gaidin," he acknowledged politely as he went past.

The Twin eyed him narrowly and was still doing so when he emerged again. "How do you know?" he enquired.

"Know what?" N'aethan retorted. He was expecting trouble from these two, but didn't think it would come just yet.

"That I am Blaek!"

"Your brother, Aebel Gaidin, is up the mast," N'aethan explained patiently, pointing, "see, there he is, on lookout duty."

Blaek Gaidin nodded impatiently. "Yes, I see him also, but how do you know that I am not Aebel? That he is not Blaek? Our own Aes Sedai can barely tell us apart, let alone anyone else, but you seem to know, you have not guessed wrong yet!"

N'aethan thought about it, then grinned when he realised what it was. He inhaled a little, nostrils flaring. "You look much alike, it is true… but your brother smells a little of garlic whereas you… you smell a bit like onions!" He laughed his mewling laugh at the idea.

Blaek Gaidin blinked.

* * *

Thaeus lay on his back in the forecastle cabin, staring up at the bunk above, his brow slightly furrowed. He was alone.

The Oneness was upon him, that place where a Blademaster went when he became one with the sword in his hands, but there was something more to it, waiting just out of reach. He closed his eyes. There, on the edge of his perception, a glowing beacon of light, seeming to pulse faintly. He reached for it, ignoring the sickness in his belly at the contact, feeling something flow into him that made the sweetest nectar pale in comparison… it filled him, completed him, cold as a draught of fresh spring water, hot as the fires of-

The oil-lantern hanging overhead abruptly burst aflame, the blaze all but consuming the wick, the glass mantle darkening and cracking in the sudden heat. Hearing the sound, Thaeus' eyes snapped open and he rose swiftly to extinguish it, burning his fingers a little in so doing. The Oneness was gone, as was whatever it had been that had temporarily filled him. He knew what it was, of course, what it had to be. _Saidin_. The substance that had so fascinated him in the well beneath the tomb, that had so compelled him… had the Shieldman not been there to stop him he might have cast himself into that crystalline pool, might have attempted to drink deep of the heady draft of the One Power.

Thaeus sat down on the bunk, his head in his hands. He must not do that any more. Each time it seemed to come a little easier, and each time it became harder to resist doing it again. He should not be here, on this ship, he was a danger to the others, a danger to his sister… what if he set more ablaze than just a lamp? He cursed this weather that had stranded them so far north, off the coast of the Blight. He had been speaking with the leader of the Aiel and had heard that among them, men who started to channel went north to kill the Dark One. They did not return. Apparently, this Cohradin had often gone to the Blight to attempt this feat himself, which he was not supposed to do… the big Aielman had told him that, the short one nodding in agreement. They were quite personable, once you got to know them. But perhaps he should do the same? If the currents took them to the shores of the Blight, it would be a better fate to go ashore and start walking in the direction of _Shayol Ghul_.

A better fate than the other which surely awaited him… going insane and rotting, perhaps killing those who were dear to him, his family, his friends. Thaeus did not feel particularly mad at the moment, but nor did he feel entirely sane. Just the odd sense of calm that had taken him over from the moment he had realised what he was. Doomed.

Thaeus rose from the bunk, buckled his sword across his back and went up on deck.

* * *

Cohradin was bored. Being bored was a serious issue for him. For as long as he could remember, boredom had always been his chiefest foe, alleviated only by such diversions as the Dance of the Spears, illicit journeys to Forbidden Shara, the hunting of Eyeless and Shadow-twisted along the Blight-border, attempting to find and kill the Dark One; anything that he could think of…

Although he had not been bored during the terrible sea-storm and still felt slightly ashamed at his reaction to it… he only feared one thing and it was not terrible sea-storms, but he had certainly come close to nervousness at its worst. But now that the weather was calm again, he was definitely _bored_. Chassin was sleeping and Gerom was reading a book beneath the hanging lantern, the Maidens were playing cat's cradle… Cohradin decided to leave the hold and go up on deck.

"I see you, Nightwatcher," he said politely to _Vron'cor_, who was leaning on the rail, looking down into the water. Cohradin remained by the hatch, keeping equidistant from the sides of the ship and the unnerving expanse of saltwater that lay all around them. Though its flatness now was much preferable than to when there were angry, churning waves stirring the surface, he still did not think that he could ever accustom himself to that sight.

"I see you also, Cohradin," responded the Nightwatcher, as he turned away from the water.

"I am bored," Cohradin complained.

The Nightwatcher just looked at him.

"There is no-one to dance the spears with," Cohradin added, in case _Vron'cor_ had not taken his meaning.

"You could try fishing," the Nightwatcher suggested. Cohradin glanced up at the raised section of deck that held the spoked wheel that turned this craft. The Sea Folk Warder stood at it, the blonde Aes Sedai next to him and beside them, the old man was propped against the rail holding a long, flexible piece of wood, a line extending from it down into the lapping waters beneath. He was puffing contentedly at his pipe, occasionally reeling the hooked and baited line in and casting it out again.

"It does not seem very exciting," Cohradin said, after a while.

"Oh, it is not. It is not supposed to be exciting, Cohradin. Fishing is a meditative past-time, it is about the enforced inactivity more than the catching of fish."

"That is foolish," Cohradin scoffed.

"_You _are foolish!" The Nightwatcher laughed his strange laugh, then turned as the Twin Warders approached him. They had been conferring with each other out of earshot prior to doing so and their faces were grim. Cohradin tensed a little, wondering if there was going to be trouble. Rather hoping that there would be, in truth.

"Naythan Shieldman," the Twins said, speaking at the same time. Just like Jassim and Yassim always did, back at Wet Sands.

"Garlic and onions!" the Nightwatcher responded, for some reason.

The Twin Warders frowned an identical frown, then gestured at the dishonourable blade the Nightwatcher wore buckled at his waist. Cohradin had offered to teach him the spear, but he had declined.

"You carry Atual Aendwyn's sword-"

"-and claim the title of 'Gaidin.' "

"I do."

"How do we know you are worthy of either?"

The Shieldman touched the hilt, then shrugged. "Perhaps I am not. Never met Atual Gaidin did I, only he could say."

"We mean to test if you are worthy." The Twins were each holding a wooden sword, Cohradin noted, made up of four thin wooden lathes bound together. They held them up. "Which of us would you like to try first?"

The Nightwatcher examined the blades. "You have another of these?"

"There is Shrina's practice-sword also."

"Would not be fair to spar with you one-at-a-time. Will take you both together…" The Twins scowled but the Nightwatcher did not seem to notice, considering further, "…no, still unfair…" He took one of the wooden blades, swished it through the air in a brisk circle, then held it up, waving it at the Sea Folk Warder. "Lionfish! Do you have one of these?"

"I have two," responded Jabal din Sudim Lionfish, "they are below with my saddlebags."

"That makes five… excellent!" The Nightwatcher appeared to be taking the idea seriously now. Cohradin watched curiously. He felt less bored now. It seemed that there was to be a fight of sorts and he wondered if he might be able to wager on the outcome…

* * *

"So… garlic, onions, fish, and…" N'aethan looked up as the young Lord Whitecloak put in an appearance, emerging from the forecastle cabin with an abstracted look on his face. Yes, he used a blade well enough, he would do for the fourth. "Hoy! Lightman! You also!" He had been told that Ellythia Sedai's brother was a 'Child of Light' or had been, whatever that was. The young fellow came over and took the practice sword from Jabal Gaidin with a bemused expression.

"Shieldman," he responded gravely, giving the wooden lathes a cut through the air, making a swishing sound, "there is to be a match? I have already defeated Aebel and Blaek, whose turn is it now?"

The Twin Warders frowned. Their Aes Sedai was frowning at them. _His_ Aes Sedai was frowning at him, as was Jabal Gaidin's at him… there was a lot of frowning going on. Well, this had not been his idea, but having been put forward, he had decided to at least make a contest of it.

"My turn!" said N'aethan. He limbered his leg a little, except for some residual stiffness it was all but healed. Besides, he needed the exercise. It was not easy, being cooped-up on this tiny craft. "When you are ready, come at me, all at once!"

The Warders and Lord Thaeus eyed each other.

"You are that good, are you, Shieldman?"

"We shall see."

Ellythia Sedai attempted to intervene. "This is childish behaviour!" she said, crossly.

Shrinalla Sedai shrugged. "Warders will be Warders."

N'aethan hopped up onto the capstan and took up a stance, the practice blade held loosely before him in a two-handed grip. He had shed his coat and sword-belt and stood ready. "Please to stand aside, Mistress and Shrinalla Sedai," he suggested. Grumbling, they returned to the quarterdeck, watching with Rennetta Sedai and the Sailmaster, who had set aside his fishing rod and pipe to take the wheel. Cohradin observed with interest from the steps where he squatted, a hand shading his eyes. The rest of the Shaido had ventured up to join him and were viewing the events also.

The three Warders and Lord Thaeus spread out to either side of the mast, facing him. Jabal Gaidin was using Shrinalla Sedai's practice sword, which was the shortest, the others were all the same length as his. The deck was barely moving in the even swell and N'aethan waited, one with the wooden blade in his gauntleted hands.

Without warning, the Twins darted forward.

They were good, he had to give them that, but he was better. They split apart, taking him from two sides and he leapt over a practice blade that swiped at his knees whilst deflecting another, the clack of wood on wood loud in the expectant silence. A quick somersault and he was down between them, his wooden sword blurring in his hands, his feet steady on the deck.

Lion on the Hill.

"Oof!" Blaek Gaidin was down, clutching his midriff, whilst his brother moved in, executing a passable attempt at Parting the Silk which N'aethan ducked beneath. If he was slower and it had been a real sword, he might have lost his head, but neither was the case. Aebel Gaidin shifted to Milling the Corn so he rolled under his opponent's blade and countered with Lightning of Three Prongs, and the remaining Twin went down with a split scalp. This had all taken scant seconds and now Lord Thaeus and Jabal Gaidin joined the fight. They were better.

N'aethan concentrated, side-stepping the initial attack, letting them get in each other's way. He kept their blades at bay with a series of whirling parries, then Thunder in the Mountains countered The Smoke Ascends and the Sea Folk Warder was on his knees, nursing his ribs. Lord Thaeus tried Tapping the Fan and N'aethan slipped to one side, responding with Cleaving the Logs, letting the practice blade bounce off his opponent's collarbone, following through the movement to sweep his legs out from under him. Lord Thaeus tried to rise, but a wooden point rested against his throat, pressing slightly. "Yield!" he groaned.

N'aethan grinned and helped the young fellow to his feet. Blaek Gaidin was still attempting to breathe while his brother had a scarf pressed to the wound in his scalp; Jabal Gaidin was sitting with his back against the capstan, a hand pressed to his side. The Shaido beat their spears against their leathern bucklers and made ululating noises.

The Aes Sedai descended from the quarterdeck to survey the aftermath. Shrinalla Sedai gave him a grim look, then went to Heal the split in Aebel Gaidin's scalp whilst Rennetta Sedai gave him a grimmer whilst kneeling to tend to her husband's cracked ribs. N'aethan shrugged. He had gone easy on them!

"You move very fast," commented Lord Thaeus, rubbing at his collarbone and wincing.

"You should all have attacked at once," N'aethan chided, "why did you wait?"

Then Ellythia Sedai was there, pushing and probing at her brother's shoulder.

"It is not broken, just bruised, yes?" She frowned with concentration and Healed him anyway.

Blaek Gaidin struggled to his feet, sucking in a few breaths, and was joined by Aebel Gaidin, rubbing the traces of blood from his forehead. As one, they put their hands over their hearts and bowed.

"You are worthy of Atual's blade," they allowed, adding; "Naythan _Gaidin_."

* * *

Mitsu was woken from a dream of flying on a _to'raken_ by the loud clack of wooden practice blades against each other. It was a sound with which she was more than familiar. What was going on?

Her clothes had been cleaned and mended and lay neatly folded beside the bunk. She rose, her head spinning a little, and dressed swiftly. Creeping on silent feet, she moved to the door of the small cabin. She eased it slightly ajar and through the crack, glimpsed the _chami_ sparring with the Warders. He was very good, moving almost too fast to see. She had not known that _chami_ used swordplay against their victims, she thought they relied on their teeth… their claws… did he have claws, as the old stories said? He wore gloves, it was hard to tell.

The final Warder was down, a wooden sword pressed to his throat, and Mitsu pulled the door closed again, returning to the bunk, feeling troubled. She was at the mercy of the enemy, she was unused to such situations. Usually, the enemy was at _her_ mercy and in the name of the Empress – might she live forever – she had none. Regretting the loss of her poisoned needle more than ever, Mitsu the Bloodknife sat on the bunk and began to make her plans.

* * *

**Part II : Renegades**

Arachnae Kirikil made a tutting sound and used a dark needle to tug a length of errant yarn free from the knot before resuming her knitting. Her mind was on other things, she kept making mistakes. The needles continued to move deftly as she glanced up at her surroundings, dark, gimlet eyes slightly narrowed. A sight of the woman at the wheel and they narrowed further. Her back was bare, as was her front. The Darkfriend Atha'an Miere women had shed their blouses as soon as the Darter had hoved out of sight of land, as was their custom. Arachnae considered it to be shameless behaviour, but there it was. The entirety of that bare back was tattooed with an odd fish that had a long, pointed beak projecting from its nose. All of the Storm-children sported such large, intricate tattoos, in addition to the ones on their hands. The tattoos of Clan Waketa, thought long extinct by their Sea Folk brethren. Well, there were a few of them left, the Waketa, enough to serve her purposes…

Abandoning her knitting for the time being, Arachnae let the needles woven of fire disappear and tucked the half-finished scarf she was making for young Ranim back into her bag, before smoothing the blanket down tighter over her bony knees. The chair she occupied was set up on the quarterdeck behind the wheel and the cold gusts of sea-air made her shiver, since she had never quite mastered the art of ignoring the elements… it required a certain detachment, whereas she had always attached herself firmly and fully to her surroundings. She would have been more comfortable below in her cabin, but needed to stay up on deck to observe the wind-weaves that young Ymilla was working. The girl was good enough at such channeling, but the storm Arachnae had summoned had left the weather in an uncertain state and it was best to keep an eye on things. A step wrong, and another storm could descend on them without warning, which would not be the desired effect.

Squinting, Arachnae could see the thick currents of Air that her Apprentice was using to bell the sails and drive them forward, summoned with the aid of her _angreal_. Arachnae herself had a _sa'angreal_ so had not begrudged giving the less powerful device to Ymilla, a princely gift indeed. As if hearing her thoughts, the girl glanced in her direction, smiling.

"It feels wonderful, grandmama!" Ymilla Nadona called out from where she stood on the other side of the steerswoman, gesturing at the cables of Air she was weaving, that filled the sails of the two-masted ship.

"Be careful that you don't draw too much, honey-pie," Arachnae cautioned her. There was always that risk, with channeling, the urge to fill oneself with more _saidar _than one could hold, and in so doing, irrevocably burn-out the ability.

"I won't," Ymilla promised, clutching the dark, heart-shaped _angreal _to her breast and moderating her flows a little. "Your Tinker is waving to you," she added, disparagingly. Arachnae looked up. At the top of the nearest mast was a crow's nest arrangement from where a look-out could keep watch. Ranim and Duadh were both up there and her bonded assassin was indeed waving his hand back and forth to get her attention. He had made a point of climbing up there periodically, his eyes being sharper than those of the Storm-children and Arachnae suspected that he did it to combat his fear of heights as much as to spy out their surroundings. Ranim cupped his hands to his mouth, his distant voice drifting down to her;

"Sails, Dread Mistress. Three of them."

Arachnae waved back to indicate that she had heard and smiled with satisfaction. It had to be the rest of the ships. She had been a little concerned that they might have been caught in the storm she had summoned. It had been somewhat foolish of her to use _that _particular_ ter'angreal_, but she had been in a rather vengeful mood at the time. And in any event, her plan to wreck the ship of her enemies had not succeeded, she had proof of that. Complacently, she reached into her knitting-bag and took out a small ring, made of a dark, shiny, surprisingly light metal. Again, she thought of the odd coincidence; surely it could only be the Great Lord of the Dark at work!

_ Arachnae widened her eyes in surprise. Her ring-ter'angreal was _glowing!_ It had certainly never done _that_ before. She slipped it onto her finger, an obsidian circlet that fit perfectly on the bony old digit and after a moment, she embraced the Source and cautiously wove a thin thread of Spirit into the device. Voices coming from out of thin air were the result of this weaving, when nothing had ever happened when she fiddled with it in the past…_

_ "What are you doing, Mistress?"_

_ "_Ellyth!_" Arachnae's ears pricked up. "I have repeatedly told you to call me by my name… and I am _very carefully_ weaving Spirit into this ter'angreal to see if it does anything, if you must know…"_

_ Arachnae listened intently. So the young chit had a ring-ter'angreal of her own, did she? __a__nd clearly had no idea what it did. She had herself read of these devices in _very_ old manuscripts and knew that they were used for communication over great distances… and for spying also, as it turned out. _

_ "I do not think that will do any good, Mist- Hellyth Sedai, mean I… not unless there is another call-ring nearby…"_

_ "What were they used for?"_

_ "For communicating. Talking. Calling someone."_

_ Arachnae nodded. They were indeed. She recognised those husky, melodically accented tones from the Dream. The Dragonspawn. So they were still alive, were they? Well, not for much longer, if she had anything to do with it…_

_ "It is glowing slightly, yes?"_

_ "It should not do that, Mistress, unless you are linked with another call-ring."_

_ Arachnae smiled. It was not a pleasant smile. They would sail north on the morrow and seek their prey where the winds had surely driven them. And she would finally have her revenge. Resisting the urge to say something, to answer the disembodied voices that filled her cabin, she ceased channeling and the call-ring became quiescent. _

Arachnae rose from the sea-chair with difficulty and took a tottering, stiff-kneed step to the rail, looking down at the deck below. In a large iron cage amidships, her Draghkar crouched disconsolately. The eight that were left, the ones that more usually hauled her basket through the air. Arachnae gripped the rail tightly, swaying at the motion of the waves. Yes, since there were no Myrddraal available, she thought that she would give the young Blue Ajah scamp to her Draghkar to play with… but only _after _she had been stilled. Her Green friend also. And she would watch, and enjoy watching, as their souls were sucked from them. As for the Dragonspawn – she touched her arm where four long, parallel scars marred the skin – well, she would have to devise something suitably appropriate.

* * *

"By the Stormfather's beard, you have sharp eyes, Tinker. I can only just see the masts now."

Ranim eyed Duadh with disfavour. The Sea Folk brigand was smiling, his gold teeth flashing in his dark face. As usual.

"I do in truth have sharp eyes," Ranim agreed, "and if you call me 'Tinker' again, I will cut your throat." Ranim's flat-eyed gaze indicated that he meant what he said. Duadh continued to smile. He had left his axe below, but had a heavy, wide-bladed knife tucked into his sash. He touched the hilt. Ranim had his dark, _Thakan'dar_-forged dagger sheathed at his belt. The close confines of the crow's nest would have made a knife-fight a difficult prospect, but by no means impossible. Not for the first time, Ranim found himself wishing that they were still back on land, that the Dread Mistress had not enlisted this brigand and his followers in her quest for vengeance. There was something about Duadh that he found vaguely disturbing, and he was not generally disturbed by anything. And then, there was his accursed bird…

The brightly plumaged creature occupying Duadh's shoulder cocked its head to one side. "Tinker!" it squawked. "Squaaa! Tinker!"

Ranim scowled. He suspected that Duadh had taught it to say that… he returned his attention to the sails in the distance. Three small, single-masted ships, travelling in a line, closing with them gradually. He could just make out the fluttering flags at their mastheads, a match for the one flying above his head; a crimson grinning skull with crossed daggers beneath, emblazoned on a black background.

"They are your people," he affirmed, ignoring the bird, though he would have liked to cut its throat too. "Brigands." He sneered.

"Aye, that they are," agreed Duadh, shading his eyes and peering at the approaching ships, "but not _my _people. Renegades. So the Father of Storms did not take them after all…"

Duadh did not sound particularly relieved that his fellow Atha'an Miere Darkfriends had not been caught in the huge storm that the Dread Mistress had summoned, he did not sound anything, for that matter… Ranim frowned. The irritating fellow was hard to read, and would be better off disposed of, but for the time being, the Dread Mistress needed him and his sea-brigands, so he would stay his hand. Besides, he did not know how to sail a ship and the only alternative method of travel north was the Mistress' basket hauled aloft by her Draghkar, and he had no wish to travel in _that _again.

Ignoring the dizzying drop below, Ranim rose from his precarious perch and swung a leg over a backstay, gripping the thick rope hard with his hands. He gave Duadh a last warning glance, then slid rapidly down to the deck below. His boots thumped down and he stood aside as Duadh followed, bare feet splaying on the wooden planks as he dropped with agile assuredness to land beside him. The Sea Folk brigand's talking bird flapped down to join them, settling back onto the shoulder of its master, and began to preen its feathers with a large, hooked beak.

"Three points west," Duadh barked up at the steerswoman and she spun the wheel in compliance. He put his hand over his heart and bowed his head to Arachnae Kirikil. "Windfinder! We will join the others and may it please the Dark, our hunt shall begin."

Arachnae nodded graciously. "Excellent, Duadh." She beckoned to Ranim and he pushed through the Darkfriends crowding the deck to join her. The ones with large tattoos on their chests and backs – sharks, rays, creatures that he did not recognise, like the tentacled monstrosity on Duadh's chest – were Storm-children, the remnants of Clan Waketa. The others were renegades, with the sigils of different Sea Folk Clans tattooed on their hands, Clans from which they were outcast. These he considered less trustworthy, but less volatile also. He wished he could set an example amongst them, to remind them of their duty. It had been several days since he had been given the opportunity to kill anyone, and he much regretted it.

But Duadh had set his own example when he drowned the Atha'an Miere Sailmaster of this vessel and took his place, the renegades obeyed readily enough, as much through fear of him and his people as for the terror they felt for the Dread Mistress, She Who Summoned the Gales. It made Ranim feel superfluous though, and the grudging way they stepped aside for him, watched him suspiciously with their dark eyes, made him want to kill them all.

Taking the steps two-at-a-time, Ranim ascended to the quarterdeck and bowed gracefully to Arachnae, his feet sure on the sloping deck. "Dread Mistress."

"The sea-air agrees with you," Arachnae commented, "you have a healthy flush in your cheeks, Ranim-dear."

Ranim extended an arm and helped Arachnae back to the sea-chair, tucking the blanket back around her knees solicitously as she sat. He performed these actions unconsciously, not only was Arachnae his bond-holder, his Dread Mistress, but she was also the closest thing he had to family. Since he had left the wagons, at least. Sometimes he wondered if any of them were still alive, the Tuatha'an he had grown up with… but no, they had turned their backs on him, declared him Lost. They did not exist to him now, anymore than he did to them. The Great Lord of the Dark existed, and that was enough. He squatted against the rail, drew his _Thakan'dar_-forged knife and began to trim his fingernails.

"Be careful not to cut yourself, Tinker-boy," Ymilla drawled.

Ranim ignored her. His mind drifted. His thoughts were his own.

* * *

Ymilla Nadona frowned. She did not like to be ignored. Especially not by the thieving Tinker whelp her Dread Mistress used as an assassin. Who was _he_ to ignore her? She smoothed the thin, silken skirts of her Domani gown and did her best to hide her irritation. She shivered a little. The weather was rather brisk, though not enough so for the cloak she had left in her cabin. She would have liked to at least add a shawl to her ensemble, but she never wore shawls. They reminded her too much of the prize that had been denied her, when she went to the White Tower. She cast a sidelong glance at the steerswoman. It looked quite liberating, to dress like that, but she did not know how the Atha'an Miere stood the cold…

"Have a care for what you are about, Milly-dear," the Dread Mistress chided her. Ymilla blushed. She had let the weaves grow too large again, too much Air and they would tear the sails apart. She corrected them, reducing the flows.

Soon, the three single-masted ships came in sight, sailing in a line, and Ymilla let her weavings dissipate as they hove-to within hailing distance of the craft. Duadh cupped his hands to his mouth and exchanged shouted words with a dark-skinned woman on the quarterdeck of the lead ship, a lot of nonsense about bearings and headings and other nautical jargon. Replete with invocations to the 'Stormfather' and the 'Siren' and the various other denizens of the deep in which he believed. Ymilla flushed slightly. She supposed that was blasphemy, since the Father of Storms was, after all, the Great Lord of the Dark, in whom she held her own most fervent belief. But Duadh's seafaring talk irritated her, as did everything else about him.

There appeared to be a problem. The exchange across the water had become somewhat heated and Duadh was giving orders for a rowing boat to be lowered. Ymilla shifted impatiently and eyed Ranim. His eyes were distant, far-away… she wondered what he was dwelling upon. Nothing pleasant, certainly. She swayed over to Arachnae, who had resumed her knitting.

"A penny for your thoughts, grandmama," she said, sweetly.

Arachnae smiled up at her. Not for the first time, Ymilla wondered how old her Mistress was. It might be impolitic, not to mention dangerous, to enquire. She still had all of her teeth, anyway. But the rumours hinted at a very great age indeed. Ymilla did not wonder if she would live that long… she would live forever, she had decided. A prize greater than some silly old shawl, in any event.

"My innermost thoughts will cost you more than a mere penny, sweetling," Arachnae responded, "but for the nonce, I think me that young Duadh has cause to exert his authority over the newcomers. We shall not intervene unless we must. Let the Sea Folk settle these disputes amongst themselves."

Ymilla nodded and stifled a yawn. Her cramped cabin had a very hard bunk and what with the constant pitching and tossing of the waves, it was impossible to get a decent night's sleep. She despised travelling by sea, always had. But their voyage north was preferable to having remained in World's End, to be spitted on some Saldaean soldier's lance or hung as a Darkfriend. Ymilla was confident in her abilities to defend herself, they had always served her well in the past, but all it took was one arrow, and that was that. Not a fate she was willing to accept. She was going to live forever, immortality would be hers. She was quite certain of it.

* * *

Gripping his axe in one hand, Duadh lowered himself down into the boat with the other, his feet sure on the sloping tumblehome of the ship. He took his position in the bow. His bosun was at the tiller, the best of his people at the oars. They were all armed. Syed yet perched on his shoulder and he gave the bird an affectionate scratch before shrugging it off, getting his ear pecked in the process.

"Return to the ship," he commanded his parrot and surprisingly, it obeyed, flapping upwards with a squawk, leaving a single moulted feather hanging in the air. "Cast off," Duadh ordered. His crew pulled strongly and the lead ship loomed closer. Dark faces at the rails watched them approach.

Duadh considered the position, and decided what he was going to do. He glanced back at the Stormchaser, as he had renamed his ship. And it _was_ his ship now, he had seen to that. A new Sailmaster, and a new name for that on which he sailed. He could feel eyes on him, and knew it to be the gaze of She Who Called the Gales. He did not think of this ancient Windfinder of the Shadow as his superior, but she had walked in his dreams often enough to convince him that serving her, and serving her well at that, would be in his best interests. The implacable old woman was one of the few among the Shorebound for whom he had any respect, unlike her silly apprentice or her humourless assassin. He would walk small around her, and do as he was told. For now.

The rowing-boat bumped against the side of the ship, much lower than that of the Stormchaser, and Duadh seized a trailing rope end and hauled himself aboard, followed by his people. The crew were all renegades, from a half-dozen different Clans by their tattoos, and he ignored them, striding up to the low quarterdeck where the scowling Sailmistress awaited him, hands on hips. "Well?" she demanded, "where is my brother?"

"I gave him to the salt," Duadh replied, and killed her. The Sailmistress did not have time to draw her knife before his axe whirled through the air in a deadly arc to neatly split her skull. She collapsed to the deck, kicking, and Duadh whirled to face her crew. His people stood in a semicircle at the foot of the ladder leading up to the quarterdeck, blades bared. The Atha'an Miere renegades bared their own and prepared to surge forward. Duadh shook his axe at them.

"I am Sailmaster now!" he roared, slamming his axe-blade down into the deck and drawing his dagger from his sash. "Let any who disagree face me!"

Three of them did, taking it in turns to come up to the quarterdeck and challenge his authority. Duadh killed them all.

* * *

"Goodness!" exclaimed Arachnae Kirikil, her eyes fixed on the action across the intervening waves, "young Duadh keeps a stern discipline amongst his people!"

"Savages," Ranim muttered, watching what was going on with as keen an interest. There was a note of almost-jealousy in his voice, Arachnae suspected he would have preferred to be over there amongst the mayhem himself. Strange that one born of the Tuatha'an could be so bloodthirsty.

"I think it looks rather exciting," Ymilla commented, observing the knife-fighting closely. "I'm just surprised that that awful Duadh isn't _drowning _them. He likes to drown people. He calls it 'giving them to the salt.' He's _awful_."

Arachnae laughed, a harsh, cackling sound and Ymilla joined-in, giggling girlishly. Ranim did not. Arachnae had never heard him laugh, not once. She eyed the steerswoman, who was also watching, a quiet satisfaction in her dark eyes.

"What is your name, my dear?" Arachnae asked her.

"Cirla din Rieta Swordfish," the steerswoman answered her, grudgingly.

"Tell me, Cirla, is this how disagreements are more usually settled amongst your people?"

"Aye, Windfinder. Though those over there are just renegades, outclan, for all that they serve the Father of Storms as do we. They are not _my_ people, the Waketa, but they must learn to obey as though they are." Cirla scowled. "There are too few of us in the north to man these ships, which is why we need them. For now."

Perhaps feeling that she had said too much, Cirla closed her mouth firmly, her eyes still on the fighting.

Arachnae sighed. "Perhaps I _should_ intervene, after all. It would not do to let Duadh slay too many of them." She reached into her knitting-bag and took out her _sa'angreal_. It was a dark bar of many-faceted crystal, as long as her fore-arm. Her most prized possession. Arachnae stood and embraced the Source through the device, feeling _saidar_ fill her to a greater extent than even she thought possible. It felt wonderful, like being young again. She spun the Mirror of the Mists with easy familiarity and heard the steerswoman, Cirla, gasp. Ranim and Ymilla were more used to her illusions, but she was aware of them each taking a step away from her, to give her room. To their eyes, she knew that she had grown in height to twice, then four times her size. She looked down at them, eyes burning with dark flames, then seemed to step over the rail of the ship and walk across the water to the ship where the fighting was going on. Her illusion continued to grow in size until her head was level with the mast-top. Her voice boomed;

"Cease!"

Duadh pulled his knife from between the ribs of an Atha'an Miere renegade and straightened, shading his eyes and gazing up at her. He looked suitably impressed, but it was the fear in the eyes of the crew that let Arachnae know her illusion was having the desired effect. She spoke again, her voice rivalling thunder;

"The Father of Storms speaks through me! You will obey!"

They obeyed.

* * *

**Part III : Traitor **

Ellythia Desiama, Aes Sedai of the Blue Ajah, rose from the straw pallet and yawned, stretching. Clad in just her shift, she went to the water-bucket in the corner, washed her face and scrubbed her teeth with salt and soda, before selecting a fresh shift and one of her less wrinkled gowns from the chest. She dressed hurriedly, shivering. Shrina and Renn were still abed and looking at the tangled blankets and the cramped bunk, Ellyth was glad in a way that it had been her turn to sleep on the floor, for all that it was a colder and harder place of repose. She donned her slippers and went up on deck.

A wind had arisen in the night, but unfortunately it was westerly, serving only to carry them closer to land, the very place the currents had been taking them. Towards the Blight. She could see distant mountains now, grey and foreboding, and what looked like smudges of damp, green forest curling about their bases. The Aiel were up on deck, resolutely sharpening their spears. She wondered if they had even slept. They seemed eager to be back on land again, even if it was a particularly deadly land. Jahdi was not amongst them. She would be below in the hold, guarding the prisoner… one of them always was, since they had found out.

Found out that the shipwrecked castaway was Seanchan. She had admitted as much herself, even if her slurred, drawling accents when she finally deigned to speak had not given her away. Not to mention the fact that she had attacked Naythan. Ellyth was still not entirely sure what a 'Seanchan' was, but Shrina's anger at discovering the girl's provenance had more than hinted at something evil and wrong about her. They would try to question her again, later, though it would probably do them little more good than on the previous occasion. The castaway was scarcely cooperative. What _was_ a _marath'damane_, anyway? It sounded like the Old Tongue. Renn would certainly know. She would ask.

"I see you, Ellythia Desiama," Cohradin called out unnecessarily, in his irritating way. Ellyth inclined her head coolly to him, turned, and mounted the steps to the quarterdeck.

Jabal was in his accustomed place at the wheel – he nodded politely – and Shrina's dreadful old grandfather stood behind him, staring fixedly up at the sky. _He_ did not trouble to acknowledge her presence, Ellyth noted, seemed more concerned with the weather. He always referred to she and Renn as 'Aes Sedai' without using their names, and she suspected that – as with the Aiel – he considered their presence aboard to be bad luck. Though their luck had indeed been ill, of late.

Glancing forward, Ellyth saw Aebel and Blaek – or Blaek and Aebel, she was uncertain which was which – working the forms before the mast, their swords dipping and weaving as though in some smooth and deadly dance. There was no sign of Thaeus. She frowned, concerned. He had been keeping to his bunk too much of late. Something was wrong, she was convinced of it. Perhaps he was sickening for something. Jabal, Aebel and Blaek, that was the Warders accounted for. Which left only-

"Good morning, Mistress!"

Ellyth looked up. Naythan was aloft, standing easily atop the yardarm, his back against the mast, glancing back down at her over a broad shoulder. How he kept his balance was beyond her. He seemed to spend a deal of time up there, searching the horizon. For what, she was unsure. Surely they were the only ship this far north?

"A good morn to you, Naythan," Ellyth called back, deciding to let the 'Mistress' slide. He really did seem to prefer using it to her name. Well, Atual had always called her that as well, she should stop insisting, she supposed. But it was different. She had never kissed Atual, for one thing. She flushed slightly.

With a start, Ellyth realised that this was the first time she had thought of Atual's name without a pang of sorrow, tinged with guilt. It had been less than two months – though it felt like much longer – and the sense of loss was still there, throbbing away like a sore tooth… but she no longer wept when she recalled his death. It seemed that, with time, one could become accustomed to anything. Part of her did not wish to be acceptant of Atual's demise, it felt like a betrayal. But there it was. What was done was done, and the Wheel weaved as it willed.

"Fine weather, is it not?" Naythan shouted down to her.

"You atop the mast – cease caterwauling!" barked Master Tolamani. "Are there any ships in sight?"

"Nay, Sailmaster, would have told you if there were," Naythan responded, and suitably chastened, returned to scanning the horizon with his large eyes.

Ellyth frowned. _She_ should be the one to reprimand her Warder, the odious fellow took his duties as 'Sailing Master' altogether too seriously, in her opinion. Not that Naythan was her Warder… not exactly… there was no bond in existence between them, and never would be given his unnatural immunity to weaves of the One Power. But, closing her eyes, she could have pointed exactly and unerringly to where he was. The _ter'angreal _secreted about his person, doubtless. But it was more than that…

There _was _a Bond between them, in a way, forged through shared adversity. He had made himself responsible for her safety with loyalty and devotion to duty, he had picked up from where Atual had left off… though she had never kissed Atual. Again, Ellyth flushed. She should not have done that. It had been a moment of weakness, she much regretted it… and yet also, she did not. It had been interesting, certainly, to finally kiss a man, for all that Naythan claimed to be something other than a man. The feel of his mouth on hers, so soon forgot in her waking hours, had come to fill her dreams. She hoped he did not expect more from her than that one, brief, meeting of lips. She was not sure if she could give it. She was Aes Sedai, of the Blue Ajah, and he was her Cause, not her lover. Pleasant, though. She finally understood what Shrina was always babbling about, with her talk of romance!

Speak of the Dark One… Shrina appeared from below, yawning and rubbing at red-rimmed eyes, her green, woollen gown crookedly buttoned at the back. Her Shawl hung from her arms, trailing on the deck. Ellyth suspected that she had taken to wearing it as much to reinforce her position with 'grandpa' as to combat the cold. Despite Shrina being Aes Sedai, the old man seemed to regard his grand-daughter as being barely out of short skirts!

* * *

"Good morning to you, little vixen!"

"Grandpa! _Do_ stop calling me that!"

"Aye, Vixen Sedai. Did you sleep well?"

"No! That bunk is _horrid_. It's cramped and uncomfortable and Renn snores." Shrina regarded Ellyth blearily. "I don't care whose turn it is, _I'm _sleeping on the floor tonight."

"It is called the _deck_, yes?"

"I don't care _what _it's called, I really don't… oh!" Shrina gazed at the forbidding mountains in the distance. "We're a lot closer to land than we were."

"Regrettably so."

"Drat! Aebel and Blaek are always talking about 'testing their mettle in the Blight' or some such Gaidin foolishness, but I've never particularly desired to go there myself…" Shrina took Ellyth's arm with a decisive air. "Come. I have more questions for that accursed Seanchan prisoner of ours, the girl we should have left floating on her piece of wood. You can come too, perhaps she'll tell you about that mysterious ring she was wearing."

"I doubt it." Ellyth turned Shrina by her shoulders with an equally decisive air and began to redo the buttons up the back of her dress. "You look a sight. And our Seanchan guest was hardly communicative when we spoke to her last night."

Shrina sighed, and tried not to fidget whilst Ellyth fiddled with her buttons. It was true. Beyond condemning them as _marath'damane_, the Seanchan had hardly ventured a word. Wherever her mysterious and bloody-minded people came from – she thought the far side of the Aryth Ocean unlikely, 'the Isles of the Dead' Jabal darkly called them – they clearly had no love for Aes Sedai. "They are as bad as you Whitecloaks," she muttered, without thinking.

"What was that?"

"Oh… nothing."

Dress correctly buttoned, Shrina led the way down to the deck below, the Aiel stepping aside for them as they approached the hatch leading into the hold. A loud thump and Ellyth's odd new Warder was there, standing before them – he had fallen from the mast, turning a lazy somersault, landed neatly on his feet, just like a-

Shrina and Ellyth jumped. The Shieldman was barring the way, somewhat. There was something rather immovable about him, in any case.

Ellyth frowned. "Stand aside, Naythan Gaidin," she said, crossly.

"The Seanchan is dangerous, Mistress," he cautioned. "An assassin, is she."

"How do you know this?" The Aiel were watching with interest, Shrina noted. The Shieldman licked his lips, looking almost nervous for a moment, then shrugged. "Uses poison. Had a poisoned needle, did she," he muttered, blinking slightly. He looked vaguely guilty, Shrina thought.

Ellyth was angry, in that Noblewoman way of hers, nose raised and cheeks flushed out of their usual paleness. "When were you planning on telling me this?" she demanded.

"Telling you now, am I not? It slipped the mind of _Sin'aethan Shadar Cor_. Apologies, Mistress."

"I should think so – a poisoned needle indeed!"

"It was the only one she had, Mistress. Disposed of it, have I."

Aebel and Blaek were suddenly there, standing to either side of the Shieldman, blades still bared, obviously intending to precede them down into the hold also. Shrina glared at the Twins. She could sense their caution through the Bond. This was ridiculous! As if they could not look after themselves!

"She is a single, unarmed prisoner," Shrina haughtily informed the three of them, "we shall wrap her in flows of Air if she tries anything… now be off with you!" The Warders made grumbling sounds but stood aside as they descended the ladder down into the hold. Shrina and Ellyth exchanged a satisfied nod. It did not do, to let the Gaidin forget their place.

The hatred burning from the eyes of the Seanchan prisoner gave Shrina a certain amount of pause, however, for all that she would never admit it. Kneeling in the corner of the hold, her hands securely bound behind her, the Seanchan still managed to exude a strong sense of danger. Jahdi squatted nearby, a spear balanced in her hands, not removing her hawk-like gaze from the prisoner for one instant.

"Aes Sedai," the blonde Aielwoman acknowledged them, still watching the Seanchan closely.

"Has she attempted escape again?" Ellyth asked her.

"She requested water and tried to kick me in the head when I gave it to her," Jahdi responded. A bruise on her temple suggested that it had been more than a try. Shrina embraced the Source and wove a Healing weave, making the Aielwoman shiver slightly, though she never took her eyes from the prisoner. "She is good at the Dance," Jahdi grudgingly admitted, "were she not bound I might have had to kill her."

The Seanchan snorted disparagingly, her dark, slanted eyes still fixed on the two young Aes Sedai. "Were I not bound, you would be dead," she drawled, in her slurred speech. Jahdi scowled.

Shrina made a noise of disgust. "We saved you from a watery grave," she protested, "stop attempting to kill us! Do you call that gratitude?"

"Throw me back into the sea, _marath'damane_, I will not protest."

Ellyth sighed. "Let us start with something simple, yes? What is your name?"

The Seanchan prisoner regarded her contemptuously, then seemed to think about it, and shrugged, as much as her bound arms would allow. "Mitsu," she growled.

"Very well, Mitsu… now what can you tell me about this?" Ellyth held up her left hand. On one of her fingers she wore a platinum ring that was glowing faintly, on another the dark ring-_ter'angreal_ she had taken from the prisoner. She extended the finger, moving her hand back and forth. "It is a _ter'angreal_, yes? How did you come by it? What does it do?" Stony silence was her only response.

Shrina tried a different tack. "Do your people really come from the Isles of the Dead?" she demanded.

"From the _what?_"

"Beyond the Aryth Ocean, the isles from which none return." Jabal had told her that much, but that was seemingly all he knew. He seemed reluctant to speak of some of the places his people did or did not voyage to. The Sea Folk could be secretive about such things… particularly with the _Do Miere A'vron_, for some reason.

"I know not of what you speak, _marath'damane_. Though there _is _a return, from those isles, the isles of the Seanchan… the _Hailene!_ We come to take back what was ours, and punish the oath-breakers, and properly collar all such as you!" Mitsu turned her head, eyeing Manda. She smiled slyly. "May I have another drink of water?" she requested.

Jahdi scowled again.

* * *

Up on deck, Renn stared at Ellyth's new Warder with fascination. He seemed to find her regard uncomfortable. She did not realise it, but her stare was _avid_, as though she were a hedgehog gluttonously eyeing a nice fat slug. Renn still had a number of questions for him, to put it mildly, but was currently engaged in trying to work out how long he had slept in this mysterious '_ter'angreal_-box' that Ellyth had mentioned…

"Now, Master Shieldman, you say that you went to sleep in the sixty-eighth year after the War of Power ended?"

"Yes, Rennetta Sedai," affirmed the Shieldman.

Renn frowned. "Just 'Renn' is fine." Then, suspiciously; "how do you know my full name?"

"Shrinalla Sedai told to me, Rennetta Sedai, said that I must address you so."

Renn scowled. "You are to _ignore_ that command, and any others that emerge from the mouth of Shrina…" she blinked, "though in fact, she has no business commanding you at all, since you are not _her_ Warder… and neither do I for that matter, come to think of it… oh, go your own way! But no more of this 'Rennetta!' "

"Went to sleep in the sixty-eighth year after the Strike, did I," reaffirmed the Shieldman, adding; "_Renn _Sedai," politely.

"Just 'Renn' will do…"

"Could not address you so, Aes Sedai!" he protested, eyes wide, "not proper, so to do!"

"Oh, have it your own way, Naythan _Gaidin_. Now, calculating roughly three-hundred and fifty years for the Breaking of the World, one-thousand three-hundred and forty-five for the After Breaking years – no, forty-six, given the date on that odd letter about the wine-thieving General – as well as one-thousand one-hundred and fifty Free Years and the nine-hundred and ninety-eight for the New Era of course… well, that comes to…"

"Three-thousand eight-hundred and forty-four years, Aes Sedai."

Renn blinked, thought about it for a moment, then nodded. "Yes, that is… correct. You even remembered to subtract the sixty-eight!" She squinted thoughtfully at the Shieldman. "Tell me… what is one-thousand four-hundred and sixty-nine minus seven-hundred and fifty-six multiplied by eight?"

"Five-thousand seven-hundred and four."

"Hold on a moment, I've just got to work it out myself on this piece of paper… hmm, correct again! You… certainly can do mental arithmetic very fast."

The Shieldman shrugged. "It is only numbers, Renn Sedai, not _difficult_, not like getting really good at _tcheran_…" he scowled, very briefly – Renn jumped – then whistled softly. "Near four-thousand years I slept… long time."

"Everything must have changed a great deal for you."

"I suppose… the cities are all gone, the land has changed." The Shieldman grinned. "But grew up in a world where nearly everything had been destroyed, did I. Where everyone you met had dead faces and scared eyes… _anything_ is an improvement on that! Like it now, do I. It is all so refreshingly rustic." He thought about it some more. "Everything else changes… but _people_ never do!"

Renn nodded thoughtfully, observing as Ellyth and Shrina came up from the hold, looking disgruntled. "I suppose they don't, at that."

* * *

N'aethan watched as the three young Aes Sedai went up to the quarterdeck, and put their heads together. He knew that they were discussing the prisoner. The assassin. She certainly moved fast, this Seanchan… that sudden, unexpected kick had nearly taken his head off, it had required much of his skill to incapacitate her without doing any serious damage. Again, he wondered what a '_chami_' was, and why she seemed to think that he was one. Whatever it was. He had offered to question her himself, she seemed to be scared of him and he was sure he could have elicited some answers, but Ellythia Sedai had refused him permission. He eyed the hatch leading down to the hold, wondering whether to disobey, but decided against it. He was in poor enough odour over the poisoned needle already…

Cohradin was squatting on the deck nearby, running his whetstone down the blade of the ivory-hilted knife he had found in Big Brother's tomb. He had offered to question the Seanchan prisoner also, and been rebuffed. Probably just as well.

"That one is trouble, Nightwatcher," said Cohradin, as though reading the tenor of his thoughts, "she dances well and cannot be trusted. We should perhaps give her back to these 'waves' upon which we float."

"Perhaps." N'aethan still could not credit that Cohradin's people were descended from the _Da'shain_… a lot could change in near four-thousand years, but it seemed impossible. The Aiel had become so _violent!_

The Atha'an Miere Warder had left his station at the wheel, and after giving his Aes Sedai wife a demure peck on the cheek, had descended to the deck below, yawning. He paused on his way past, and stared. "Where did you get that knife, Aielman?" he demanded. His dark-skinned face bore surprise and suspicion in equal measure.

Cohradin blinked. "In the tomb of the Nightwatcher's brother, next to some old bones. You would like to see it, Sea Folk? Here." He flipped the knife in his hand and extended it hilt-first toward the Warder.

Jabal took the knife, studying the carved ivory handle intently.

"Something is wrong?" N'aethan asked.

"Yes! This is a blade of the accursed Waketa, the Clan that is not a Clan!" Jabal passed it back to Cohradin, vehemently wiping his hand on his oilcloth trews. "Only one of the salt-cursed Storm Children would carry such a knife!"

Cohradin's face reddened, his pale scars standing out. "I am not one of them!" he protested, sheathing the blade at his belt, "I took it from the body of one, perhaps… but he had released the monster of _Vron'cor's _father from his Roof, set free to trouble the world again, there was no dishonour in so doing!"

It was Jabal's turn to blink. "Monster?"

N'aethan intervened. "It is a long story," he said, in placating tones. "Who are these Storm Children?"

"They infest the Ghost Islands to the far south, they-" Jabal paused, taking a deep breath, adding, "it is not something we speak of." And he spoke no more, stomping away after a last dark look at Cohradin. They watched him go into the forecastle cabin, slamming the door behind him.

"They are strange, these Sea Folk," Cohradin opined, "as strange as a Sharaman… their women command them in all things, I hear." He shuddered, before adding; "and their behaviour in private is shameless indeed." Cohradin shook his head disapprovingly, his reddish-gold tail of hair bouncing against his broad shoulders. Gerom and Chassin nodded their agreement. Manda did not.

N'aethan sighed. Another bone of contention amongst their small and divided crew, it seemed. Shaking his head, he climbed up the mast and resumed his station. But this time, he divided his attention between the seas to the west and the Blight to the east. There would undoubtedly be Shadow-wrought there for him to kill. That was something, at least.

* * *

"Shrina! I don't know what you mean by 'keel-haul' but I don't think it is something that, in all conscience, we can do to our prisoner, no?"

Ellyth noted that Shrina had her lower lip stuck out in that way she did when she was insistent on being obdurate about something.

Renn's light brown eyes moved from Shrina to Ellyth and back again. She flicked some spiky locks of hair out of the way and cleared her throat. "Perhaps you are just not asking the _right _questions?" she suggested.

Shrina scowled. "Never mind the questions, we should just make the accursed Seanchan walk the plank and be done with her!" Her grandfather, standing at the wheel, nodded approvingly.

Ellyth sighed. The longer they were at sea, the more 'piratical' Shrina was becoming, it seemed. And Master Tolamani was no better… 'walk the plank' indeed!

"I want to know why she was wearing this _ter'angreal_-ring," Ellyth insisted, holding it up. "I am sure that she will tell us eventually, without recourse to torture or other violence… we should give her time to ponder on-"

"On what?" Shrina demanded. "The perils of flouting the will of a 'marithdaman' or whatever it is she thinks we are? That hardly seems likely."

"It's '_marath'damane_' " Renn supplied helpfully, "it means 'they who must be leashed.' Well, sort-of, the Old Tongue doesn't translate very easily, as you know…"

"I _don't _know, and I have no desire to wear a Seanchan leash!" Shrina's face was flushed. "They put them round the necks of our Sisters in Falme, you know. Collaring Aes Sedai, for what purpose I can't imagine… those Seanchan are evil!"

"We don't know that they _all_ are," Ellyth put in weakly, rubbing her temples. She could feel a head-ache forming behind her eyes. The usual consequence of an argument with Shrina…

"They're probably all Darkfriends! We took a viper into our bosom when we plucked her from the sea. A viper!"

"Then we must keep her fangs at bay and draw the poison from her, to continue with your somewhat dramatic analogy," Ellyth riposted. She turned away from the others, looking towards the Blight. They had entered an enormous bay, a towering headland to the north, the mountains looming higher to the east. "Are you sure you cannot do something about the weather?" she asked, changing the subject.

Shrina frowned. "No! I'll try again if you like, but the wind stays westerly no matter what weaves I cast… you know I'm good with this sort of thing, but there's something acting against me, I'm sure of it… and you have no call to go changing the subject, Ellyth! We were discussing the prisoner, and what we're going to do with her!"

"We will do nothing with her for now," Ellyth stated firmly, tilting her head back and fixing Shrina with an imperious gaze. "Any course of action we take would make us as bad as these Seanchan. We must prove that we are better than that, yes?"

Renn murmured her agreement and Shrina, finding herself outvoted, lapsed into sulky silence, her arms rigidly crossed, her expression dark. Ellyth suspected that part of the reason for her foul mood was to do less with the uncommunicative prisoner, and more with her failure to summon a wind to take them south. Weather channeling was Shrina's forte, after all. It was the very first thing she had taught herself to do after manifesting the ability, in quelling a gale that threatened to wreck the fishing-boat she was on, and she had subsequently found it difficult to sense the Source, much less embrace it, unless she felt the motion of waves beneath her. Her Block when it came to embracing _saidar_ under controlled conditions in the Tower had involved the need for a pitching deck beneath her feet whilst she did so.

Ellyth did not smile when she thought of how her own Block had been broken – Anaiya Sedai's somewhat drastic tactics had scared the life out of her! – but could not keep her lips from twitching when she recalled how Shrina's had been overcome. Myrelle and Alanna had taken a hand in it…

The two young Green Sisters had made Shrina embrace and release the True Source whilst standing blind-folded on a table-top with the legs removed, balanced on a barrel turned on its side. They had knelt at either end, tipping the surface back and forth in imitation of the motion of a deck at sea. They had gradually reduced this motion until Shrina could channel whilst standing on a still surface – though without reducing the sarcasm commensurately. Alanna had continued to make nautical 'swishing' sounds, whilst Myrelle had still interjected the occasional seagull imitation!

Shrina had managed to fall off the 'deck' numerous times before her Block had been broken, and probably sustained as many bruises as that slinking fox Rashiel Tamor had, in the breaking of her own – though Shrina's bruises were spread fairly evenly over her body, whereas, courtesy of Galina Casban's slipper, the Trollop's were mostly concentrated in that one particular place!

"What are you smiling about, Whitecloak?" Shrina demanded, grumpily.

"I was just thinking about how Alanna and Myrelle broke your Block," Ellyth responded, perfectly truthfully.

"Huh! Don't remind me. But at least I did not squeal like a frightened piglet, like you did… I stood my trials with a stoic and quiet forbearance!"

"I _did not _squeal like a-"

"Ahoy the deck! Sails to the west! Four, there are!"

* * *

Whoever they were, N'aethan did not like the look of them. That flag, for example, the grinning skull above the crossed daggers, whipping back and forth atop all of the masts… it scarcely looked friendly. The four ships had sighted them also, he could see distant figures up there, watching. They were getting closer, their courses converging. No, he _definitely _didn't like the look of them.

The Sea Folk Warder joined him, balancing easily atop the yardarm, one hand gripping a halyard, the other shading his dark eyes. The last N'aethan had seen of him he had been on his way to get some sleep, but he seemed fresh enough for all that he had stood a watch for most of the night. The Warder Bond meant they could do with less sleep, of course, Ellythia Sedai had told him about that. He was frowning.

"What is that flag?" the _Atha'an Miere_ muttered. "I can't make it out."

N'aethan described it to him, and the frown became a black scowl.

"Storm Children. Darkfriends. That shore-cursed knife was an ill-omen! Scum of the sands! What are _they_ doing this far north?"

N'aethan presumed this to be a rhetorical question. "They are dangerous?" he enquired.

"Yes!"

That was all he needed to know. A possible source of danger, that might harm his Aes Sedai, not to mention the other Aes Sedai, whom he quite liked… well, they would have to get through him first. He wondered what the fighting would be like. He had never taken part in a sea-battle before. The shocklance might come in handy, though he had exhausted the charge on those rafts somewhat. While these thoughts went through his mind, N'aethan gripped the mast and slid down to the deck below.

The Shaido were on their feet, spears at the ready, practically bouncing on their toes with repressed excitement.

"Trouble, Nightwatcher?" Cohradin asked.

"Seemingly so, Cohradin."

"Good!"

Risking the Sailmaster's disapprobation, N'aethan ventured up to the quarterdeck to report the situation. "Storm Children, Sailmaster. Friends to the Darkness, apparently. Four ships, one of them a two-master, closing on our position."

"May the Storm-Father take them!" was the gnarled old man's opinion of this, and he spun the wheel, taking them in closer to the headland. "I'll try to lose them in the shallows," he growled past the pipe clenched in his teeth. "Little vixen, run below and fetch my sword!"

"Yes grampy," Shrinalla Sedai replied, darting down the steps. Ellythia Sedai and Rennetta Sedai eyed N'aethan with concern. He attempted a reassuring smile.

"Not to worry, Mistress and Renn Sedai, your Gaidin fight well, we will disperse them." He would tear their beating hearts from their chests if they tried to harm his Aes Sedai, in fact, but this was a little more information than they perhaps needed…

"I am not worried," Ellythia Sedai stated firmly, and N'aethan took pride in the steadiness of her gaze, the way her voice did not tremble. "We have been in worse situations than this, and survived." He smiled. She had the heart of a lion!

"Indeed," agreed Rennetta Sedai, "why, I didn't tell you, Ellyth, but I was stuck in the Ways with Jabal and had to fight Shadowspawn all on my own, not to mention our more recent confrontations with that hag of yours. This cannot be worse than that."

N'aethan hoped that it would not be. He really did.

The pursuing ships were close enough now that they could be seen from the deck. The three smaller, single-masted craft had surged ahead, the larger double-masted ship lumbering behind in the heavy swell. Dark, jagged rocks began to appear, rising from the waves. Jabal returned to the wheel, steering a careful path past them, while Master Tolamani, his sword stuck through his sash, shouted instructions. The Shaido waited below, their feet sure on the pitching deck for all that they would never be at home on this element. The Twins and Thaeus stood before the mast, their blades bared and at the ready.

N'aethan went down to the hold and searched briefly through his possessions, locating the shocklance rolled-up in a blanket. He felt eyes on him.

The Seanchan prisoner was watching him. She hid her fear well, very well, but it was there. He could smell it. He motioned for Jahdi to go up on deck and join the others, then checked the prisoner's bonds, before binding her ankles also.

"There is to be a fight with Friends of the Dark," he told her, "you are not unskilled and I would ask you to join us in defending this ship, but I am unconvinced that you are not one of their number yourself."

She glared up at him. "I do not fight for the Armies of Night!" she spat.

"I would that I could believe you."

"Filthy _chami!_ Every word out of your mouth is a lie. Play your foul games with someone else!" The fear had given way to anger somewhat, but was still there.

N'aethan grinned, toothily. "You must tell me what this '_chami_' is that I so remind you of," he said, "it would be nice to know." Silence was his only response. Hefting the shocklance, he went up on deck, feeling those dark, accusing eyes still on him. He was not sure why he found this troubling, but he did.

The enemy ships were closer now, sweeping into the bay in their wake. N'aethan went to the stern, taking the steps up to the quarterdeck two-at-a-time. Pushing his way carefully past the Aes Sedai, he moved to the rail above the rudder where Master Tolamani stood, his pipe still clenched between his teeth, one hand resting on his sword-hilt.

"_Storm Children_," the old man muttered, making the name sound like the vilest of curses, "they'll ask for no quarter and give none… we will have to kill them all." He smiled grimly. Clearly, the prospect pleased him.

N'aethan knelt at the rail, resting the shocklance on it, sighting along its length. The lead ship was almost close enough, its bow crowded with dark-skinned, bare-chested brigands, clutching long knives, short swords and wicked-bladed axes.

"What is that thing you're fooling with?" Master Tolamani wanted to know.

"It's a 'lightning-lance' grampy," Shrinalla Sedai explained, "I think it might be a kind of _ter'angreal _or something like that."

N'aethan shook his head. "_Not_ a _ter'angreal_, Shrinalla Sedai, a weapon it is."

The lead ship was almost close enough, the other single-masters flanking it, the larger double-masted craft hanging back. More semi-submerged rocks swept past to either side, and risking a glance over his shoulder, N'aethan noted that they were closer to land than they had been, grey cliffs looming above a shingle beach to their lee. Jabal Gaidin spun the wheel and they turned into a narrow channel, the Twins racing aloft to reef sail at the Sailmaster's bellowed instructions. The closest ship turned with them, the others following. Now.

N'aethan twisted the ring to its maximum setting, sighted carefully and depressed the trigger. A harsh bolt of bright light flared from the end of the shocklance and shot over the waves to impact the bow of the enemy ship, just above the waterline. Jagged splinters flew, raking the crew, and a large hole appeared in the hull. Water rushed in and the craft began to sink. N'aethan nodded with cold satisfaction. That was one of them taken care of. The crew of the stricken craft leapt overboard, waving to their fellows on the other two ships, which swept past, ignoring them. N'aethan sighted again, but this time, only a fizzle of white light emerged from the barrel of the shocklance. The charge had been expended.

"_Tsag!_" N'aethan growled, discarding the useless weapon and touching his sword hilt. They would have to deal with the rest the old-fashioned way, it seemed. The two pursuing ships split apart, their clear intent to board from either side. "Now would be a good time for _real _lightning, Aes Sedai!"

Ellythia Sedai tugged at his arm. "We cannot intervene with the One Power unless they attack us personally," she explained, "the third of the Three Oaths forbids it."

"They are Darkfriends but they are not Shadowspawn," Rennetta Sedai added, apologetically.

N'aethan had never heard of these 'three oaths' but under the circumstances, considered them to be somewhat foolish. "There will be fighting, Mistress. You and the others should go down to the cabin."

"Hah!" Shrinalla Sedai had a sword buckled at her waist, its blade of an odd, forward-curved design. She touched the hilt. "There is more than one way to skin a cat!"

Rennetta Sedai pulled at her sleeve and drew the slim-bladed dagger from its sheath, while Ellythia Sedai impatiently requested his _gholam_-stabber. N'aethan passed her the small knife, wishing that they would all go below and stay out of the way. Master Tolamani sent Jabal down to the deck, taking the wheel himself.

The enemy sail-craft drew level to either side, their rails crowded with more of the dark, weapon-brandishing brigands. There were at least a score in each. The big, double-masted ship still stood further out to sea, so at least they would not have to deal with them also, for the time being. N'aethan descended to the deck, drawing his sword. Cohradin met him, spears at the ready. He looked eager.

"You and the Shaido stand to port, the Warders and I will guard the starboard," N'aethan shouted, above the noise of pounding surf.

"Port, Nightwatcher?"

"The _left _side of the ship!"

"Why do you just not _say _'left' _Vron'cor_?" Cohradin grumbled.

"Never mind! It is time to dance the spears, so _dance them!_"

With a crash, one of the enemy ships came into contact with their hull, followed by the other ship, sandwiching them between their opponents. Grappling irons attached to ropes were flung, drawing them close together, and the enemy began to leap over the rail, weapons raised, shouting savage war cries.

N'aethan did not like to kill humans, but these were Friends of the Dark so he swallowed his distaste and set to work. It was butchery. None of the long knives or curved axe-blades came close to him, he ducked and weaved, moving from form to form against the tide of dark-skinned, tattooed brigands, cutting them down whenever they came within range of his blade. The deck was soon awash with blood. To either side, the Warders and Thaeus were giving a good account of themselves and glancing briefly back over his shoulder, he saw that the Shaido were slaughtering the enemy with equal facility, their flickering spear blades dark with gore. But they kept coming, as though they had no fear of death, as though there was something else that they feared more. He wondered what it could be…

N'aethan slipped to one side to avoid a descending axe blade that howled past his head and neatly opened his attacker's throat as two more brigands leapt forward, a dagger in each hand. He split the skull of one and turned to deal with the other, in time to see him stabbed through the heart with a curved-forward blade. Shrinalla Sedai twisted and withdrew, her teeth flashing in a savage smile, her cheeks flushed.

"Go back to the quarterdeck, Shrinalla Sedai!" N'aethan remonstrated, "there is danger here!" Behind her he could see Ellythia Sedai and Rennetta Sedai by the door to the cabin, each with a knife inexpertly clutched in a determined fist.

"That's the idea!" Shrinalla Sedai responded, pointing with her bloody sword blade, and lightning leapt from the sky to impact on the deck of the nearest enemy ship, scattering its remaining crew and causing flames to leap from the wooden planks. "If I'm not in danger then I can't do _this _sort of thing!" Instantly, her Warders were by her side, their slim blades discouraging attack. Shrugging, N'aethan turned back to the fight, making sure to place himself between his Aes Sedai and the enemy. He would not have her put herself in danger on _his_ account, not for anything.

* * *

Ashoka Tolamani spun the wheel deftly, keeping one eye on the sea, the other on the carnage below. One of the enemy ships was aflame, dropping away to their lee, and the other had hit a rock and lost its mast. He watched as the Aielmen used their knives to cut away the last of the ropes attached to grappling irons, and it too fell away from them. The shallows were cluttered with rocks this close to the shore but they were committed now, there was no turning back. He flung the wheel hard over and they skirted a jagged boulder with barely a span to spare. They were almost out of the channel. Almost…

In the corner of his eye, Ashoka saw one of the Aielwomen leap lithely up the steps to the quarterdeck, blue-green eyes flashing above her black veil. He glanced over his shoulder – were there attackers boarding at the stern? – but saw no-one. It was then that he felt the spear go into his side. The fingers that gripped his sword-hilt felt robbed of all their strength and his last thought as he collapsed to the deck was that, however pretty her eyes, he had been a fool to turn his back on an Aiel.

* * *

Jahdi withdrew her spear from the wetlander ship-master, wondering whether to stab him again, but he did not move. She drew her black veil down from her face and smiled coldly. There was no-one else up here on the raised part of the deck, or she would have killed them also. Even the Aes Sedai, though she did not know whether that would have been possible. She would have liked to kill Manda, but she was still down there with the others, waking the last of the enemy. Jahdi had waked a few of them herself, for all that they were ostensibly on the same side. It did not matter, she knew what she had to do now. She had known all along. The old wetlander Wise One, the Friend who walked in her dreams, had instructed her in what to do… and by the Great Lord of the Dark, she had done it!

_ After she killed Tevin, swiftly cutting his throat before he could raise the alarm, Jahdi waited, and sure enough, the Shadowrunning Lost One she had been told would meet her came climbing up the cliff. He swung his legs over the parapet and sat there, regarding her with distaste. _

"_I see you, Lost One," Jahdi commented with equal distaste, stropping her knife against the side of her soft boot._

"_I am not _lost_ anymore," the Lost One pointed-out, coldly, "not since I found the Great Lord of the Dark…" a strange look of reverence flickered over his blank face for a moment, "not since first I heard his Song." He drew his dark-bladed dagger from its sheath and pointed it at her, warningly. "Call me that again, and I will kill you very slowly, Aiel savage."_

_Jahdi scowled, then smiled nastily. "Perhaps you could, Friend, perhaps you could… you seem to have left your cowardly 'leaf-way' far behind you, at least."_

_The Lost One frowned. Despite his threat, he would know that he was not allowed to kill her. Not yet, at least. She was of use to his Dread Mistress. He lowered the dark blade reluctantly. "Say what you have to say, then return before they notice that you are missing… Shadowrunner."_

_Jahdi's scowl resumed. But she told the Lost One what he needed to know. She did not fear him, _or_ his crone, the ancient Wise One he served… but she _did_ fear the man in the mask, the Dark Master, who had visited her dream once. Once had been enough. Strange, to know what fear was. The Lost One feared him as well, she knew that much. The two of them, along with a shared heritage that neither would have acknowledged, even had they known of it… well, they had this much in common. _

_ And Jahdi had done her part. The night before, when Manda went to use the latrine, she had carefully shone a lantern at the cliffs until an answering light had flickered, as the Wetlander Friend of the Dark had told her to in the dream. Just as before, she had scratched certain secret signs upon a rock, then left it in the cairn Cohradin had insisted they build for the Aes Sedai's dead Warder. Too bad about young Tevin, she had not liked having to wake the youth, for all that it had been necessary, but when you ran with the Shadow, you obeyed your orders implicitly or paid the consequences. And the consequences of disobedience could be terrible indeed. _

_ The Lost One dug a small statuette out of his pocket and left it standing on the parapet. He shaded his eyes and glanced up at the night, carefully ensuring that the Aielwoman was still in his peripheral vision. Jahdi took this as a compliment. She glanced up also. There; bat-like wings across the full moon, approaching. _

"_They come."_

"_Then I go."_

Jahdi knew that she did not have long. She studied the large, spoked wheel set before her, gripping it cautiously. It turned the ship, she knew that much from careful observation, but which direction was which? There was but one way to find out…

As they came level with a large, jagged spur, Jahdi swung the wheel over as hard as she could, the craft responding, turning toward the source of danger. With a rending crash, the ship ground over rocks and came to an abrupt halt, the mast bending forward, then back, before snapping in two, the upper half tumbling to the deck. Jahdi picked herself up from where the impact had flung her and seized her spear and buckler, preparing herself.

It was time to wash the spears, and she did not fear to die.


End file.
